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FIREWEED 


FIREWEED 


BY 

JOSLYN   GRAY 


.^\ 


04 

NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  March,  1920 


to  my  most  indulgent  readers 
Doctor  and  Mrs.   Charles  Adams  Gray 


2135957 


FIREWEED 


FIREWEED 


CHAPTER   I 

"  Hear  ye !  Hear  ye !  Hear  ye !  Believe  me,  Libby 
Lancaster,  I  shall  hear  ye  to  the  last  day  of  my  life,  the 
very  last.  If  I  had  had  the  slightest  inkling  —  if  I  had 
dreamed  what  I  should  have  to  endure,  what  depths  of 
hell  I  should  be  dragged  through,  goodness  only  knows 
whether  I  should  have  had  the  courage  to  start  the  bloom- 
ing thing  at  all.  But  how  could  I  know?  How  should 
I  guess  ?  Naturally,  I  looked  for  fair  play,  as  how  should 
I  not?  Even  though  they  were  desperate,  you  would 
hardly  have  expected  Alex  and  John  Blackwood  to  be 
such  fiends  as  to  sic  that  shyster  lawyer  on  me,  now 
would  you  ?  " 

Warmly  as  Erica  Manners  spoke,  she  did  not,  how- 
ever, take  the  trouble  to  face  the  person  to  whom  she 
appealed.  Indeed,  she  seemed  rather  to  turn  purposely, 
if  ever  so  slightly,  away  from  her.  The  restless  gaze  of 
her  rather  shallow  brown  eyes  wandered  from  the  trans- 
parent tongues  of  amethyst  and  coral  flame  rising  from 
the  hearth  before  her  to  the  brilliant  buckles  of  the  gay 
satin  slippers  into  which  her  bare  feet  were  thrust  and 
up  to  the  slender  fingers  clasped  about  her  knees  whose 
jewels  refracted  the  firelight.  At  the  same  time,  there 
was  something  intimate  and  confidential  in  her  petulant 
voice,  which,  while  not  full  nor  rich,  had  an  odd  sort  of 
compelling  charm  about  it. 

Over   her    elaborate    frilled   and   embroidered   night- 


2  FIREWEED 

gown,  she  wore  an  elegant  mantle  of  corn-colored  silk, 
and  on  her  head,  a  useless  little  cap  of  the  same  shade. 
Beneath  the  lace  border,  her  gleaming,  silky  hair,  parted 
and  plaited  in  two  tails,  hung  nearly  to  the  floor,  though 
the  low,  hooded  chair  in  which  she  sat  made  it  appear 
longer  than  it  was.  Huddled  in  its  shelter,  ungracious 
as  her  manner  was,  she  was  the  picture  of  grace;  and 
though  the  profile  revealed  by  the  soft  light  was  thin  to 
sharpness  and  slightly  aquiline  into  the  bargain,  it  was 
girlishly  youthful,  almost  that  of  a  child. 

Miss  Lancaster,  who  would  have  been  gracious,  as  she 
would  have  been  humorous,  could  such  qualities  come 
through  volition  or  by  imitation,  who,  though  not  half  a 
dozen  years  older  than  Mrs.  Manners,  might  almost  have 
passed  for  her  mother,  agreed  emphatically  that  Manners 
and  his  solicitor  were  fiends  indeed.  She  was,  as  she 
would  have  expressed  it,  "  simply  perishing  "  for  want  of 
sleep,  longing  to  get  back  to  her  bed  in  the  adjoining 
chamber  whence  she  had  been  summoned  an  hour  after 
midnight  by  her  neurotic  patient  and  patron  who  hadn't 
been  able  to  get  away  from  the  events  of  the  day  in  the 
court-room  and  hadn't  closed  her  eyes.  But  being  de- 
voted to  Mrs.  Manners  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word, 
being  used,  moreover,  to  being  haled  from  bed  in  the 
small  hours,  Elizabeth  Lancaster  made  a  successful 
struggle  to  keep  awake,  and  was  ready  with  the  heavily 
stressed  negative  or  affirmative  particles  that  were  all 
that  was  required  or  wanted  from  her. 

Of  course  she  knew  that  Caleb  Cotton  was  not  a  shyster 
lawyer.  She  was  aware  that  he  stood  next  to  John 
Blackwood  himself  in  the  first  legal  firm  in  the  city  and 
perhaps  in  the  state.  Furthermore,  she  understood  Erica 
Manners  suffitiently  well  to  doubt  her  frequent  assertion 
that  she  had  dreaded  the  notoriety  of  the  divorce  court 
and  had  only  had  recourse  to  it  under  compulsion ;  and 


FIREWEED  3 

she  couldn't  have  failed  to  realize  that  up  to  to-day, — 
now  yesterday,  —  when  Cotton  had  begun  his  cross- 
examination,  Mrs.  Manners  had  enjoyed  the  excitement 
and  her  own  dramatic  position.  Elizabeth  Lancaster,  a 
mature  woman  who  had  earned  her  living  as  a  trained 
nurse  for  upwards  of  a  dozen  years,  in  frequent  and 
intimate  contact  with  women  of  wealth  and  social  stand- 
ing, might,  had  she  so  chosen,  have  seen  all  these  things 
without  prejudice.  That  she  did  not  so  choose  was  per- 
haps her  own  affair:  certainly  she  was  not  the  less  pros- 
perous because  of  her  failure  so  to  do. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware  that  Cotton  isn't  nearly  done 
yet.  I  don't  know  that  he  has  more  than  begun,"  Mrs. 
Manners  went  on  petulantly,  unclasping  her  hands,  lying 
back  in  her  chair,  and  crossing  her  legs  so  that  her  gaze 
could  rest  comfortably  on  her  right  foot  which  she  pointed 
now  this  way,  now  that,  without  dropping  the  slipper 
which  hung  only  from  the  toe.  "  And  yet,  you  would 
certainly  think  he  must  have  done  his  damnedest  already, 
wouldn't  you?  Is  there  any  possible  chance,  Libby,  of 
his  saying  anything  worse  than  he  said  to-day  ?  " 

Miss  Lancaster  hated  to  be  called  Libby.  But  it  was 
preferable  to  Lanky,  which  was  the  alternative  with  Mrs. 
Manners,  so  she  submitted  patiently. 

"  O  no,  Erica,  dear,"  she  assured  her  patron,  as  she 
successfully  stifled  a  yawn,  "  he  couldn't  possibly.  He's 
used  up  his  ammunition." 

Mrs.  Manners  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  confess,  I 
have  my  doubts  as  to  that,  Libby,"  she  owned.  "  Any- 
how, I  rather  dread  to  have  him  go  on.  I  just  dread  the 
sight  of  his  ugly  carcass,  to  tell  the  truth.  Here  it  is 
nearly  three  o'clock,  and  at  ten  it  will  all  be  beginning 
again,  with  that  stupid  crowd  sitting  there  with  pop-eyes 
and  open  mouths.  The  men  aren't  so  bad,  but,  O  those 
women,  those  painfully  ordinary  women!     Libby,  don't 


4  FIREWEED 

you  think  extraordinary  ought  to  mean  powerfully  ordi- 
nary —  ordinary  to  the  limit  ?  " 

Miss  Lancaster  laughed. 

"  Really,  Erica,  you  must  give  your  brain  some  rest 
before  to-morrow  or  you  will  go  to  pieces.  Can't  you 
fix  your  mind  resolutely  on  something  soothing?  " 

"  Soothing  rot ! "  retorted  the  other.  "  No,  Libby,  I 
can't  fix  it  on  anything  but  Hear  ye  and  Hear-me-Cotton. 
Oh,  I  shall  be  cottoned  all  right.  It  was  only  the  begin- 
ning to-day  —  yesterday  —  no  sense  in  shutting  our  eyes 
to  that  fact.  To-morrow,  —  to-day,  I  should  say,  he'll 
fall  on  me  like  —  listen,  could  you  feel  when  he  began 
how  everybody,  all  the  strangers,  too,  were  against  him 
and  for  me  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  could.  Honestly,  Erica,  if  he  should  try 
to  go  further,  I  believe  those  women  would  hiss  him." 

"  Heaven  f  oref  end  any  such  vulgarity.  And  saying 
that,  Libby,  you  remind  me  that  that's  what  they  are,  a 
mob,  which  means  that  they're  this  way  to-day  and  that 
to-morrow,  hail  one  hour  and  damn  the  next.  Did  you 
notice  the  other  day  when  Alex  came  off  the  stand  and 
bowed  his  head  on  his  hand  how  very  quiet  it  was  for  a 
few  seconds  ?  Goldthwaite  didn't  leave  him  a  leg  to  stand 
on,  and  yet,  —  bowing  his  head  like  that,  you  know,  so 
that  the  gray  hair  about  his  temples  showed,  —  well,  some 
of  them  pitied  him,  —  that  was  plain.  I'm  not  sure  that 
I  didn't  have  to  remind  myself  who  he  was  so  that  I 
shouldn't  spill  any  pity,  myself." 

"  O  Erica,  I  don't  think  any  one  was  sorry  for  him," 
Miss  Lancaster  declared  with  unusual  promptness. 

"  Well,  if  they  weren't  then,  he'll  make  *em  soon,  —  old 
Cotton  will  —  you  just  watch  out,  Libby." 

Miss  Lancaster,  who  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  chair  in 
order  to  keep  awake,  stretched  her  head  forward,  craning 
her  long  neck  for  relief,  —  an  unconscious  and  ugly  habit 


FIREWEED  5 

she  had  acquired.  The  light  fell  curiously  upon  her  long, 
thin  nose,  which  made  her  chin  look  smaller  and  weaker 
than  it  was,  and  deepened  her  resemblance  to  some  great, 
awkward  bird,  which  her  round,  bright,  though  rather 
pale-colored  eyes  intensified.  There  was  something  stri- 
dent, too,  in  the  falsetto  voice  in  which  she  constantly 
spoke. 

"  I  cannot  believe  that.  Erica,"  she  asseverated  sol- 
emnly. "  He  might  do  some  such  thing  in  the  West ; 
but  the  man  is  too  uncultivated  to  move  people  in  this 
part  of  the  countr>',  even  those  you  call  the  mob.  Out 
West,  however,  I  don't  doubt  that  his  crude  methods  took 
the  public  by  storm." 

Mrs.  Manners  yawned. 

"  To  my  mind,"  Miss  Lancaster  added,  "  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Manners  should  choose  him  was  the  same  as  giving 
over  the  case." 

Mrs.  Manners,  who  expected  Miss  Lancaster  always  to 
agree  with  her,  was  impatient  with  all  but  the  briefest 
replies,  and  usually  controverted  any  independent  state- 
ment she  was  bold  enough  to  make. 

"  O  Lanky,  you're  way  off  there.  Not  he !  Not 
Alex !  "  she  retorted.  "  That's  the  worst  of  it.  Cotton's 
really  a  crackajack  lawyer,  though  he  hasn't  any  educa- 
tion to  speak  of,  except  in  the  law,  and  he's  had  no  social 
advantages  at  all  and  is  a  boor.  Phil  Stokes,  who  is  the 
most  fastidious  person  I  know,  is  quite  daflFy  over  him, 
and  he  says  Blackwood  thinks  more  of  him  than  any  man 
(or  woman,  for  that  matter)  in  the  world  except  Alex. 
I  dare  say  he  hugged  himself  at  getting  him  on  from  the 
West  in  time  to  fight  the  case  for  Alex.  Otherwise,  I 
don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  him.  For  after 
all,  John  Blackwood  is  a  gentleman,  and  having  been  my 
guest  so  often,  he  couldn't  —  O,  he  couldn't  have  begun 
to  say  as  nasty  things  as  Cotton  said  to-day,  —  to  say 


6  FIREWEED 

nothing  of  what  he  may  bring  forth  to-morrow.  And 
yet,  I  wonder  whether  it's  the  part  of  a  gentleman  to  put 
in  the  mouth  of  another  what  one  wouldn't  say  oneself  ?  " 

"  No,  Erica,  it  certainly  is  not,"  returned  Miss  Lancas- 
ter as  if  she  were  an  accredited  arbiter  in  such  matters. 
"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Blackwood  has  lost  his  claim  to  the 
name  of  gentleman  for  good." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,  Libby,"  the  other  characteristically 
demurred.  "  I  suppose  in  a  sense  all's  fair  in  —  well, 
there's  certainly  no  love  in  this  case,  even  though  Alex 
insists  that  there  is.  You  weren't  present,  were  you, 
when  Goldthwaite  asked  him  his  reasons  for  opposing 
the  divorce,  and  Alex  said  there  were  no  reasons,  only  a 
reason  that  he  loved  me?  It  was  not  only  absurd,  you 
know,  it  was  sickening.  A  man  of  Alex's  type  doesn't 
know  the  meaning  of  love.  He's  no  more  capable  of 
experiencing  real,  intellectual  love  than  I  am  of  —  the 
other  sort." 

A  pensive  expression  flitted  over  her  face;  for  the 
moment  she  was  the  romantic  figure  the  newspapers  had 
portrayed  her.  As  the  clock  chimed  the  three-quarters 
she  sighed. 

"  My  dear,  you  won't  get  through  the  day  unless  you 
get  a  little  rest.  Get  into  bed  now,  have  a  little  massage, 
and  try  to  sleep,"  proposed  Miss  Lancaster  in  her  pro- 
fessional capacity. 

Erica  Manners  rose  and  stretched  herself,  all  grace 
and  languor. 

"  I  may  as  well,"  she  admitted.  As  she  stood  passive 
while  Miss  Lancaster  removed  her  mantle  and  cap,  she 
sighed  again,  less  pensively,  more  ruefully. 

"  Honestly,  Libby,"  she  confessed  as  she  got  into  bed, 
"  I'm  scared  blue  of  that  man  Cotton,  —  no  joking  about 
it.  You  don't  know  what  to  expect  from  a  person  who's 
so  utterly  lacking  in  refinement.     Don't  ever  tell  if   I 


FIREWEED  '  7 

whisper  to  you  what  I'm  most  afraid  of?  I'm  fright- 
ened to  pieces  for  fear  he'll  call  me  haggard!  Anything 
but  that ! " 

Miss  Lancaster  laughed,  and  her  laughter  was  not 
forced.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Manners  was  too  well 
groomed,  to  use  her  favorite  phrase,  for  anything  of  that 
sort.  She  was  thin,  delicate-looking,  always,  and  at  times 
a  bit  worn-looking  in  a  pensive,  aristocratic  way,  but 
haggard,  —  never ! 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Miss  Lancaster  turned  to 
go  to  her  own  rest,  Mrs.  Manners  lay  in  her  great,  hand- 
some bed,  refreshed  and  relaxed  and  ready  for  sleep,  a 
picture  of  grace  and  luxury,  and  not  without  a  certain 
appeal  in  the  delicacy  of  her  features  and  the  wistf ulness 
of  her  expression.  On  a  sudden  she  laughed  out,  a  ring- 
ing, mirthful  sound  that  partook  of  the  undeniable  charm 
that  was  her  birthright  and  that  had  made  her  what  she 
was. 

"  Libby,  just  one  moment  more,"  she  begged  in  a  low 
caressing  voice  that  was  almost  lovely.  "  I  want  to  ask 
you  if  you  ever  in  all  your  born  days,  saw  such  blue  eyes 
as  that  man  has  —  except  in  little  kittens,  little  baby 
Angora  kittens  ?  " 

"  What  man?  "  asked  Miss  Lancaster  wearily, 

"  What  man !  Elizabeth  Lancaster !  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you  haven't  noticed  Caleb  Cotton's  eyes? 
Well,  I'll  be  —  damned !  " 

She  stroked  the  silky  plait  of  her  soft  brown  hair  with 
a  small  thin  hand  that  looked  the  smaller  from  its  nest  of 
frills. 

"  He  is  such  a  rube  in  every  way !  And  suddenly  to 
see  those  china-blue  eyes,  with  the  whites  so  very  white, 
blue- white,  next  his  tanned  skin.  And  there's  no  doubt 
about  it,  that  line  of  white  that  shows  below  the  iris  makes 
him  look  powerfully  honest.     And  he  certainly  was  rather 


8  FIREWEED 

funny  when  he  answered  Goldy  about  the  boys,  you  know. 
Just  for  a  tiny  moment,  I  couldn't  help  feeling  rather  a 
sneaking  liking  for  the  old  blob.  And  I  had  hard  work 
not  to  laugh.  If  I  had,  like  as  not  I  should  have  lost 
out.    Goldy  had  better  sit  up  and  take  notice." 

"  I  guess  I  didn't  hear  that,"  murmured  Miss  Lancaster 
sleepily.  Mrs.  Manners  knew  that  she  must  be  far  gone 
to  revert  to  the  "  guess  "  of  her  youth,  but  she  made  her 
hear  the  story  nevertheless. 

"  Quite  right,  you  didn't.  You  had  gone  to  fetch  the 
salts,  Libby.  Alex  was  on  the  stand,  and  Cotton  was 
questioning  him,  O,  so  sweet  and  gentle  and  suave, — 
he  certainly  has  a  peach  of  a  voice,  truer  in  pitch  and 
quality  than  many  a  cultivated  one,  which  his  isn't.  I 
don't  recollect  just  how  it  was,  but  Goldthwaite  objected 
to  something,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  squabble,  and 
somehow  Goldthwaite  brought  it  out  in  a  perfectly  nat- 
ural manner  that  out  in  Indiana  they  used  to  call  him 
Gale  Cottontail.  Every  one  snickered,  and  th^  fellow 
in  brass  buttons  that  sits  next  the  door  rapped  and  mut- 
tered something  or  other.  But  Cotton,  mind  you,  not 
fazed  in  the  least,  turned  and  addressed  the  judge. 

"  *  May  it  please  the  court,  although  what  my  brother 
alludes  to  does  not  bear  directly  upon  the  question  of 
the  libel,  I  should  like  to  explain  that  circumstance,' "  — 
Mrs.  Manners  was  a  practised  and  capital  mimic,  but  of 
course  she  exaggerated  Cotton's  drawl. 

"  Well,  the  judge,  who  favors  that  side  because,  I  sup- 
pose, he  means  to  give  us  the  verdict,  of  course  allowed 
it,  and  he  goes  on :  *  The  court  will  have  noted  that  my 
brother  goes  far  back  in  history.  What  he  says  was 
true  once,  but  it  wasn't  true  long.  Some  of  the  boys  did 
get  to  calling  me  that  —  behind  my  back.  Then  once 
they  did  it  to  my  face  and  that  was  once  too  many.' 

"  Then,  Libby,  he  looks  up  to  the  judge  with  those  blue 


FIREWEED  9 

eyes  solemn  as  a  baby's,  his  face  ever  so  sober,  and  says 
in  the  drollest  way:  '  I  was  tall  in  those  days  (as  if  he 
wasn't  to-day!)  and  a  mite  bony,  and  I  licked  those  boys 
—  took  off  my  .coat,  shoved  up  my  sleeves,  and  laid  'em 
out,  one  after  another,  in  a  line.  There  was  no  Cale- 
Cottontailing  after  that ! '  " 

Erica  Manners's  memory  was  facile  and  quick,  her 
sense  of  humor  keen,  and  she  enjoyed  relating  the  inci- 
dent even  while  she  knew  that  Miss  Lancaster  quite 
wanted  any  subtle  sense  of  the  absurd, 

"  He's  rather  common,  not  to  say  vulgar,"  the  latter 
remarked  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  M — m,  well,  yes,  I  suppose  he  is.  And  yet,  I  couldn't 
help  feeling  as  if  that  were  rather  dear.  At  the  same  time 
I'm  mighty  thankful  it's  Goldthwaite  that's  defending 
me. 

Miss  Lancaster  made  her  escape,  slipped  out  of  her 
bathrobe,  which  was  a  hand-me-down  and  too  short,  and 
dropped  into  bed.  And  she  wasted  no  time  musing  upon 
the  rather  singular  turn  the  monologue  had  taken  at  the 
last. 

Had  Alexander  Manners  heard  it,  he  would  have  pon- 
dered deeply  upon  it ;  but  at  the  end  he  would  have  been 
less  wise  than  Miss  Lancaster  who  had  dismissed  it  so 
readily.  He  would  have  seen  in  it  nothing  but  Erica's 
engaging,  absurdly  inconsequential,  fatal  charm.  Had 
he  mused  all  day  upon  her  words,  he  would  never  have 
discovered  therein  what  was  nevertheless  implicit  —  the 
secret  of  his  oyhi  failure. 


CHAPTER   II 

The  Manners  trial  dragged  on  and  on.  Witness  after 
witness  was  sworn,  examined,  and  cross-examined  until 
it  seemed  as  if  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  either  party 
connected  with  the  case  made  one  subject  to  such  inqui- 
sition. Much  unsavory  matter  was  exhumed  from  the 
past.  No  one  protested  overmuch  as  to  that;  but  there 
was  considerable  complaint  because  much  that  was  merely 
tedious  and  seemed  to  the  uninitiated  quite  irrelevant  was 
threshed  and  rethreshed.  Day  after  day,  session  after 
session,  the  court-room  was  crowded  to  the  limit  of  its 
capacity,  the  throng  coming  early  to  struggle  for  seats  — 
many  women  with  a  good  sprinkling  of  men  —  and  re- 
maining almost  invariably  until  after  adjournment, 
thereby  greatly  disappointing  the  stragglers  who  watched 
jealously  and  more  and  more  hopelessly  through  the  glass 
oblongs  of  the  swinging  doors,  for  places  on  the  benches 
to  be  vacated. 

The  newspapers  were  given  over  largely  to  this  one 
subject.  Allotting  limited  headlines  and  a  portion  of  a 
column  on  the  first  page  to  Mexican  affairs,  thence  refer- 
ring the  reader  to  an  inner  page,  they  devoted  the  re- 
mainder of  the  page  and  the  paramount  headlines  to  the 
Manners  divorce  case.  And  while  the  different  papers 
vied  with  one  another  in  the  number,  quality  and  clever- 
ness of  their  pictures,  sketches,  and  caricatures,  they  were 
alike  in  presenting  a  resume  of  each  day's  proceedings, 
followed  by  a  verbatim   report,   question   and  answer. 


FIREWEED  II 

which  carried  it  over  to  succeeding  pages.  A  few 
mothers  of  school-girls  wrote  letters  to  the  editors  pro- 
testing against  the  publicity ;  but  on  the  whole  there  was 
little  exception  to  such  monopolization  of  space.  For 
the  parties  to  the  suit  were  persons  of  consequence,  as 
their  fathers  and  grandfathers  had  been,  and  that  back- 
ground would  have  made  a  more  ordinary  case  inter- 
esting. 

Finally,  however,  there  was  an  end  of  it  all.  When 
court  adjourned  early  on  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  the 
thirteenth  May,  the  evidence  was  all  in.  On  Wednes- 
day, the  eighteenth,  the  arguments  were  to  begin,  and,  in 
all  likelihood,  to  conclude,  after  which  a  speedy  verdict 
was  expected.  The  public  accepted  the  interruption  per- 
force but  with  clamorous  impatience.  Those  concerned 
welcomed  the  respite  gratefully. 

Among  the  latter  was  Philip  Stokes,  though  neither  side 
had  thought  it  worth  while  to  summon  him  as  a  witness. 
And  it  was  not  his  position  as  junior  member  of  the  firm 
which  represented  Alexander  Manners  in  opposing  the 
divorce  that  made  the  proceedings  of  such  moment  to 
him.  His  long-lived,  hopeless  passion  for  Erica  Man- 
ners, for  years  now  a  matter  of  common  gossip  through- 
out the  city,  rendered  him  painfully  sensitive  to  every  turn 
in  the  trial  whose  outcome  would  after  all  mean  nothing 
to  him. 

Immediately  after  adjournment,  though  with  no  ap- 
pearance of  haste  —  Stokes  was  an  elegant  dawdler  in 
manner  and  by  reputation  —  the  young  man  made  his  way 
to  the  hotel  where  he  had  quarters,  dropped  his  lawyer's 
bag,  picked  up  fresh  chamois  gloves  and  a  more  elegant 
stick,  and  set  forth  leisurely  again  into  the  street.  The 
case  being  closed,  he  felt  at  liberty  to  resume  a  habitude 
discontinued  during  the  long  course  of  the  trial,  of  going 
daily  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  his  sister,  Delia  Hoi- 


12  FIREWEED 

brook,  who  was  Erica  Manners's  intimate  and  only  woman 
friend,  though  Miss  Lancaster  was  her  companion  and 
confidante. 

Philip  Stokes  was  a  singularly  fastidious  fellow,  with 
old-fashioned  ideas  that  were  rather  absurdly  incongru- 
ous with  the  manner  of  life  of  the  "  fast "  set  he  asso- 
ciated with.  He  did  not  admire  his  sister ;  he  was  quite 
frank  in  expressing  his  regret  at  their  relationship.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  liked  Delia  Holbrook  amazingly.  He  hated 
women  to  know  anything  about  politics ;  yet  he  thought 
as  highly  of  her  opinion  in  regard  to  politics  as  in  regard 
to  letters  and  other  impersonal  matters.  And  he  had 
missed  her  keenly,  during  these  past  weeks,  his  loyalty 
to  the  firm  as  well  as  his  natural  sense  of  fitness  having 
kept  him  away  from  the  Holbrook  mansion  while  the 
trial  was  pending,  there  being  always  a  chance  of  his 
encountering  Erica  Manners  there. 

He  found  Delia  in,  but  exceedingly  cool.  As  always, 
she  was  first  for  Erica,  and  then,  a  long  way  after,  for 
her  brother.  She  resented  his  long  absence  and  took  no 
trouble  to  hide  the  fact. 

"  I  suppose,  Del,  you  think  it  was  easy  for  me  to  stay 
away  ?  "  he  asked  more  warmly  than  it  was  his  wont  to 
speak,  and  in  rather  boyish  manner,  though  he  seldom 
appeared  to  be  less  than  his  full  age,  which  was  one  and 
thirty. 

"  I  know  jolly  well  you  wouldn't  have  done  it  unless 
it  was  easier  than  it  would  have  been  to  show  people  — 
particularly  Erica  —  that  you  were  loyal,"  she  retorted. 
And  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently  when  she 
saw  his  face  go  suddenly  white  and  not  only  lose  its  mo- 
mentary boyish  look  but  appear  years  older. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  had  been  torture  —  keeping 
away  from  Erica  —  constant  agony.  Stokes  hadn't 
known  happiness,   it   is  true,   since  he  had  learned  of 


FIREWEED  13 

Erica's  betrothal  upwards  of  seven  years  ago;  but  he 
had  learned  to  distinguish  shades  of  unhappiness,  and 
his  recent  exile,  voluntary  only  in  a  certain  sense,  had 
been  one  of  the  most  wretched  periods  of  his  recent  life. 

He  had  known  Erica  as  a  child,  had  admired  her  ever 
since  he  had  danced  with  her  at  a  children's  party  before 
he  went  away  to  school.  He  had  fallen  in  love  with  her 
when  she  had  returned  at  sixteen,  in  long  skirts  with 
her  hair  put  up,  after  three  years  in  Europe  with  her 
aunt.  Even  at  that  time,  even  at  sixteen,  Erica  Ericson 
hadn't  accorded  at  all  with  his  singular  ideals.  Never- 
theless she  had  bewitched  him  with  the  charm  that  still 
endured.  He  had  striven  with  might  and  main  to  win 
her  love ;  but  he  had  failed  to  win  that  or  her  hand.  He 
had  a  small  income  and  was  heir  to  his  uncle's  place  in 
the  Blackwood  firm  with  a  good  salary  from  the  begin- 
ning, but  he  was  not  rich;  and  Miss  Ericson,  who  was 
poor  and  ambitious,  had  preferred  Alexander  Manners, 
an  agreeable,  but  in  no  sense  magnetic  or  poptilar  mil- 
lionaire, who  was  twenty  years  her  senior. 

Whereupon,  Philip  Stokes,  in  the  strength  of  his  youth 
and  the  pride  of  his  four-and-twenty  years,  had  deter- 
mined to  break  with  her  utterly  and  irrevocably.  But  he 
had  not  broken  with  her  even  temporarily.  The  years 
had  gone  by  —  seven  of  them  —  and  there  had  been  no 
change  in  the  situation  except  that  his  passion  had  in- 
creased, albeit  with  nothing  to  feed  upon.  For  Erica's 
attitude  remained  the  same,  easy,  tolerant,  humorously 
friendly,  but  never  intimate.  She  wasn't  squeamish :  she 
had  had  numerous  and  almost  continuous  "  affairs  "  with 
other  men  since  her  marriage ;  but  she  had  given  Philip 
Stokes  no  more  —  though  no  less  —  than  the  limited  en- 
couragement she  had  always  yielded  him  —  simply  enough 
to  hold  him.  And  he  had  never  once  stretched  taut  the 
tenuous  thread  of  that  bond. 


14  FIREWEED 

He  had  looked  forward  feverishly  to  this  minute  — 
this  minute  when  she  wasn't  at  Delia's  but  might  be  on 
her  way.  Though  he  never  saw  her  without  pain,  he  was 
hungry,  famished  for  the  sight  of  her,  famished  even 
for  that  particular  sort  of  pain  which  he  suffered  in  her 
presence.  And  he  recovered  from  the  thrust  of  his  sis- 
ter's stab  by  reminding  himself  that  he  wasn't  to  see 
Erica  only  to-day.  He  was  about  to  resume  his  habit  of 
seeing  her  daily,  either  here  or  wherever  her  home  might 
be.  He  was  practically  certain  that  the  verdict  would 
be  against  her;  but  even  if  he  had  expected  her  to  win, 
he  would  have  had  no  illusions  as  to  himself.  All  he 
had  to  hope  for  was  the  return  to  the  status  quo. 

The  blinds  were  drawn,  the  candles  lighted,  and  a  fire 
burned  on  the  hearth.  The  young  man  gazed  in  silence 
at  the  flames  he  had  absently  poked  into  existence. 
Then,  just  as  he  started,  in  his  slow  proud  way,  to  explain, 
to  endeavor  to  justify  himself,  Erica  Manners  walked 
in  unannounced,  and  the  atmosphere  cleared  instan- 
taneously and  as  if  by  magic.  This  was  a  common  hap- 
pening. Whatever  might  be  the  case  when  any  two  of 
the  three  were  together,  as  an  unit  of  three,  intercourse 
between  them  was  all  that  any  of  them  could  desire.  It 
was  not  a  subject  that  was  acknowledged  or  ever  alluded 
to,  but  while  it  lasted,  none  of  the  three  asked  for  any- 
thing other  or  better. 

There  was  something  radiant  about  the  newcomer, 
which  might  have  had  to  do  with  her  new  spring  finery. 
Mrs.  Manners  had  donned  for  the  first  time  that  after- 
noon, perhaps  as  an  expression  of  her  relief  at  the  re- 
prieve, a  costume  that  Delia  (whose  taste,  where  she  was 
not  herself  concerned,  was  excellent)  declared  the  finest 
and  most  becoming  she  had  ever  worn.  The  long,  loose 
coat,  with  graceful  flowing  lines,  the  tunic,  and  the  skirt, 
which  somehow  followed  an  ugly  fashion  without  being 


FIREWEED  IS 

ugly,  were  of  soft,  rich  stuff  and  of  a  wonderful  shade, 

—  a  fawn  color  which  so  exactly  matched  her  soft  hair 
that  one  would  have  expected  to  find  the  latter  dappled 
when  she  removed  the  drooping  hat  which  gave  her 
sharp  little  face  a  charm  it  had,  perhaps,  little  title  to. 

Dragging  herself  rather  comically  across  the  floor,  she 
flung  herself  into  a  great  leather  covered  chair.  Stokes's 
disappointment  that  she  hadn't  noticed  his  outstretched 
hand  was  swallowed  up  in  the  pleasure  of  feasting  his 
eyes  upon  her  from  his  position  on  the  hearth  rug. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  why  I  limp,  Phil  ?  "  she  asked 
dryly,  looking  up  frankly.  "  It's  because  that  man  Cotton 
of  yours  didn't  leave  me  a  leg  to  stand  on  —  only  stumps 

—  hardly  enough,  indeed,  to  hobble  on  from  the  car  in 
here." 

Stokes  smiled  faintly  but  less  cynically  than  was  his 
wont.  Physically,  Erica  Manners  resembled  the  ideal 
lady  of  his  heart  as  little  as  morally ;  but  only  the  extraor- 
dinary length  of  his  lashes  decently  veiled  the  famished 
staring  of  his  habitually  bored,  weary,  and  rather  melan- 
choly eyes. 

"  And  yet,  you  know,  old  man,  if  I  should  lose,  it 
wouldn't  be  because  he's  a  clever  lawyer,  but "  — 

Suddenly  she  sat  erect.  Her  rather  pale  brown  eyes 
grew  hard,  where  darker  ones  would  have  flashed. 

"What  the  devil  is  Blackwood  thinking  of,  anyhow?'* 
she  demanded,  exulting  secretly  in  the  possibility  of  hurt- 
ing some  one  —  of  retaliation  by  proxy.  "  You  know, 
Phil,  when  all  is  said,  a  court  of  law  isn't  a  Sunday 
School.  That  boob  simply  moralised  all  over  me.  He 
didn't  keep  to  the  law  at  all,  —  in  fact,  he  kept  strictly 
away  from  it." 

"  Mr.  Cotton  has  the  law  by  heart.  Erica,  knows  it  for- 
ward and  backward,"  returned  Stokes  quietly.  He  sel- 
dom raised  his  lids  fully,  and  his  glance,  when  it  didn't 


i6  FIREWEED 

seem  sleepy,  was  insolent  of  appearance.  But  Erica  was 
used  to  it. 

"  I  wish  you'd  sit  down,  Phil,"  she  said  petulantly. 
"  I'm  dead  sick  of  focusing  my  eyes  upon  a  standing 
figure." 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  but  rose  at  once  as  his  sister 
handed  him  a  cup  of  tea  for  Erica. 

"  Do  you  know,"  remarked  Delia  suavely  the  moment 
the  cup  was  out  of  her  hand,  "  I  had  a  foolish  notion  in 
my  head  all  the  time  that  there  was  some  connection 
between  morals  and  the  law.     Funny,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Holbrook  was  an  ugly  woman,  older  than  either 
of  the  other  two,  with  large  features,  prominent  bones, 
and  a  too-prominent  forehead.  Her  skin  was  thick  and 
swarthy,  her  mouth  very  large  with  the  upper  lip  un- 
usually long,  but  her  eyes  were  not  bad,  and  her  won- 
derful, but  exceedingly  rare  smile  was  said  to  transform 
her  face  into  something  as  compelling  as  beauty. 

"  Now,  Del,  don't,  I  entreat  you,  be  grim,"  Erica 
pleaded,  refusing  tea  with  a  petulant  gesture  as  she  pulled 
off  her  hat  and  rested  her  graceful  head  against  the 
leather  cushion  wearily.  "  Honestly,  I've  been  squeezed 
between  the  upper  and  the  nether  millstone,  and  squeezed 
and  squeezed  again  until  I  feel  as  flat  as  a  paper  doll.  For 
days  —  Good  Lord,  for  ages  and  aeons  —  it's  been  like 
this :  all  day  in  court  with  Cotton  turning  me  inside  out 
and  cordially  inviting  the  daws  to  peck  at  my  vitals ;  all 
night  in  the  sole  company  of  Libby  Lancaster  who  has 
no  sense  of  humor  but  says  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
and  stretches  her  neck  at  me  until  I  want  to  shy  bricks 
at  her.  I  naturally  expected  to  find  solace  here,  but,  O, 
no !  You've  got  too  much  humor,  Del,  and  no  bowels  of 
compassion.     Well,  —  Ish  ga  bibble." 

Mrs.  Holbrook  grinned. 

"  By  the  by,  Erica,  that  was  an  amusing  picture  of  you 


FIREWEED  17 

in  the  Gazette  the  other  day,  with  Lancaster  and  the 
smelling  bottle,"  she  remarked.  "  Did  you  happen  to  see 
it?" 

Stokes  winced  secretly.     Mrs.  Manners  again  sat  erect. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  want  to,  and  if  you've  kept  it,  don't 
for  heaven's  sake,  haul  it  out  now.  The  Gazette  had 
one  picture  of  me  that  looked  at  least  forty  with  a  reg- 
ular witch's  chin.  Really,  it  was  scandalous.  I'd  just 
like  —  " 

Shrugging  her  shoulders  impatiently,  she  flung  back 
against  the  cushion. 

"  Hatch  certainly  has  a  clever  touch,"  Mrs.  Holbrook 
observed,  referring  to  the  newspaper  artist. 

Stokes,  exceedingly  ill  at  ease,  endeavored  to  change 
the  subject.  But  he  discovered  that  Erica  herself 
wouldn't  and  couldn't  leave  the  trial.  She  could  think 
or  speak  of  naught  beside.  Replying  absently  and  briefly 
to  his  queries  as  to  indifferent  matters,  she  resumed  her 
own  train  of  mind  with  a  curious  zest  which  it  was  plain 
to  see  was  not  without  an  element  of  pain.  In  an  high 
state  of  excitement,  she  was,  it  hurt  Stokes  to  feel,  con- 
fident of  success;  it  was  the  rankling  of  sundry  recol- 
lections that  caused  her  spirits  to  fluctuate. 

"  I  could  have  howled  at  the  way  Cotton  handled 
Alex,"  she  declared,  taking  the  lead  again.  "  Possibly 
you  noticed,  Phil,  that  he  treated  Alex  like  a  perfect 
lady  and  me  like  a  —  well,  cow-puncher?  But  let  us  be 
charitable :  I  dare  say  that  in  the  West  the  poor  old  galoot 
had  to  do  mostly  with  toughs  and  cattle  thieves." 

"  Good  Lord,  Erica,  Mr.  Cotton  comes  from  Indiana ! 
That's  not  West.  Where's  your  geography,  anyhow  ?  " 
demanded  Stokes. 

"  My  geography  is  where  yours  obviously  is  not,  —  in  a 
reasoning  intellect,"  she  retorted.  "  Indiana  was  West 
when  your  Uncle  Caleb  grew  up  —  in  the  formative  days 


i8  FIREWEED 

of  his  tender  youth.  And  surely  Goldthwaite  established 
the  fact  clearly  that  he  has  had  no  experience  in  dealing 
with  ladies." 

"  Rot !  You  ought  to  know.  Erica,  clever  as  you  are, 
that  all  that's  merely  part  of  Goldthwaite's  job,  a  trick 
of  the  trade,"  rejoined  Stokes  with  unusual  heat.  "  You 
may  say  all  you  like,  but  Mr.  Cotton's  a  gentleman  if 
there's  one  in  the  city.  He  worships  the  memory  of  his 
wife,  and  —  if  you  could  see  him  with  his  daughter !  " 

"Ah!  Nancy?"  inquired  Delia  with  peculiar  inflec- 
tion, rolling  the  word  on  her  tongue. 

"  Yes,  Delia,  Nancy,"  her  brother  declared  severely. 

Erica  glanced  at  him  rather  sharply.  "  Is  she  another 
gawk  ?  "  she  inquired  sweetly. 

"  Nancy  Cotton  is  without  exception  and  in  every  way 
the  loveliest  young  girl  I  ever  laid  eyes  on !  "  he  declared 
with  a  dramatic  sort  of  finality.  And  he  sighed  within 
him. 

Delia  Holbrook  was  aware  of  that  stifled  sigh.  She 
understood  what  her  brother  believed  to  be  hermetically 
hidden  in  the  depths  of  his  heart.  She  was  aware,  —  in- 
deed, she  knew  it  better  than  he  himself  understood  it  — 
that  for  six  months  he  had  been  striving  to  drive  Erica 
from  her  place  in  his  heart  by  association  with  the  Cotton 
girl,  who  represented  almost  ideally  his  obsolete  ideals. 
And  she  knew  that  his  failure  was  implicit  in  that  sigh. 

Erica  frowned  at  Stokes's  uncalled  for  declaration,  if 
not  of  independence,  of  independent  taste.  She  had 
never  happened  to  see  Cotton's  daughter ;  but  she  did  not 
care  to  have  Stokes,  at  the  moment  of  her  suspense  and 
uneasiness,  prating  thus  of  a  bread-and-butter  miss  whose 
father  had  hounded  her  to  the  verge  of  distraction.  She 
drew  on  her  gloves,  uttered  a  few  spiteful  phrases  against 
the  Blackwood  firm,  designed  to  hurt  Stokes  and  success- 
ful, and  made  an  abrupt  departure. 


FIREWEED  19 

After  handing  her  to  her  car,  Stokes  returned  to  his 
sister. 

"  That's  the  female  of  it,"  he  growled,  frowning  down 
upon  Delia  from  his  position  on  the  hearth  rug  with  his 
back  to  the  fire.  But  he  wasn't,  as  she  thought,  refer- 
ring to  Erica's  pique  at  the  mention  of  Nancy.  "  Of 
course  you  must  have  noticed,  Del,  that  Erica  couldn't 
get  away  from  Mr.  Cotton?  If  she  had  to  dwell  ad 
nauseam  on  the  trial,  why  in  heaven's  name  didn't  she 
confine  herself  to  Goldthwaite?  Why?  Simply  because 
it's  the  woman,  the  dog,  and  the  walnut  tree !  " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  Phil,  it's  nothing  of  the  sort," 
Delia  retorted  stanchly.  "  You  don't  understand  — 
you're  prejudiced.  Poor  Erica's  really  terribly  cut  up 
over  it  all.  She's  hungry  —  she's  just  starving  for  sym- 
pathy, though  naturally  of  a  different  sort  from  the  crass 
mess  she  gets  from  Lancaster.  After  having  all  those 
nasty  things  dinned  into  her  ears  day  after  day,  what  she 
really  yearns  for  is  to  be  reassured  by  some  one  who 
counts.  And  that  could  be  only  you  or  me  —  I  ought  to 
have  said  me  or  you." 

"  Right-O,"  he  said  grimly.  As  he  looked  at  her  from 
beneath  lowered  lashes,  his  sister  felt  that  his  eyes  were 
full  of  pain. 

"  She  certainly  got  as  much  sympathy  from  me  as 
from  you,  —  so  far  as  that  goes,"  he  said. 

"  There  are  different  ways  of  withholding  sympathy," 
she  remarked  as  she  lighted  a  cigarette.  There  was  no 
use  in  passing  the  case  to  her  brother  for  he  invariably 
refused  to  smoke  with  her. 

"  I'm  not  one  of  the  cuddling  kind  as  you  know,  Phil," 
she  remarked  after  a  pause,  gazing  meditatively  at  the 
cigarette  between  her  fingers.  "  And  yet,  do  you  know, 
I  would  have  held  her  hand  to-day  and  hugged  her,  and 
praised  her  sore  little  heart  and  indulged  in  no  end  of 


20  FIREWEED 

Tommy-rot  if  I  had  dared.  But  I  knew  it  wasn't  safe. 
Erica  must  not  break  down.  She's  on  the  very  edge  of 
doing  so,  now.  I'm  going  on  to  Atlantic  City  to  stay 
until  Tuesday  night  just  so  that  she  won't  have  a  chance 
to  see  me  again.     And  Phil,  don't  you  see  her." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  he  returned  coolly,  though  he  was 
secretly  moved.  "  And  of  course  I  wouldn't  think  of 
such  a  thing  with  you  away.  And  anyhow  —  I'll  risk 
her  breaking  down.  Good  heavens,  Delia,  Erica  likes  it, 
she  quite  gloats  over  it,  —  barring  a  few  things  that  strike 
home.  You  know,  if  I  were  going  to  worry  about  any  one, 
it  would  be  for  Manners.  He  looks  ten  years  older  than 
he  did  before  this  came  on,  and  for  the  last  few  days  he 
has  looked  livid,  —  alarmingly  so,  when  you  consider  that 
his  grandfather  died  of  heart  disease." 

"  Yes,  Phil,  but  practically  all  of  us  have  weak  hearts 
if  we  knew  it,  and  all  our  grandfathers  might  have  died 
of  heart  disease  if  something  else  hadn't  come  along  and 
taken  them  off  prematurely.  As  for  Alex,  I'm  sorry  for 
him,  of  course.  It's  certainly  hard  lines  for  him.  But 
I  can't  at  this  moment  consider  any  one  but  Erica.  Do 
you  think  she's  likely  to  win,  Phil  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  willing  to  discuss  the  case  at  all,  Delia.  I'm 
right  sorry  I  came  here  to-day  at  all,"  her  brother  returned 
sulkily. 

"  You  certainly  haven't  wasted  much  time  here  for  the 
last  month,"  she  declared.  "  Where  have  you  been,  at 
the  Cottons'?" 

He  kicked  the  log  with  his  foot  to  start  a  blaze. 

"  I  haven't  been  there  since  the  case  was  called,"  he 
said  stiffly. 

"Rather  circumscribed,  eh?"  Delia  grinned,  and  her 
grin  was  quite  another  thing  than  her  smile,  which,  how- 
ever, never  favored  her  brother. 

She  threw  the  stub  of  her  cigarette  with  skilful  aim 


FIREWEED  21 

straight  into  the  fire.  Looking  up  with  bent  brows,  she 
asked  suddenly,  again  with  that  peculiar  inflection: 
"  Phil,  if  you  think  so  highly  of  the  Cotton  girl,  why  don't 
you  marry  her  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her  with  haughty  amazement. 

"For  one  thing,  she's  too  young:  she  isn't  out  of 
school,"  he  returned.  "  For  another,"  he  added,  "  I'm 
too  old:  I'm  twice  her  age." 

"  Rot !    That  wouldn't  count  if  you  really  wanted  her," 

"  I  do,"  he  said  moodily,  and  to  her  rather  surprisingly. 

"You  doubt  being  acceptable  to  pappyf"  she  asked, 
ironically.  How  did  Delia  come  to  know  that  Nancy  Cot- 
ton addressed  her  father  thus? 

Stokes  not  seeing  fit  to  reply  to  the  rhetorical  question, 
his  sister  demanded: 

"Well,  what  is  it  then?" 

Stokes  flushed  slightly  —  a  rare  occurrence  with  him. 
He  started  to  speak  but  checked  himself  and  remained 
staring  at  his  sister's  plain  face  with  its  prominent  cheek 
bones  and  its  rather  oriental  breadth  and  flatness  below. 
He  wondered  now,  as  frequently  before,  why  Delia  tacitly 
encouraged  his  clinging  to  Erica.  Sometimes  he  believed 
it  was  because  she  was  quite  as  infatuated  with  Erica  as 
he  was,  and  was  quite  ready  to  sacrifice  his  life  to  her 
caprice.  But  the  subject  was  never  mentioned  between 
them.  Again,  he  paused  at  the  very  brink  of  such  dis- 
cussion and  turned  abruptly  away.  Something  always 
seemed  to  warn  him  of  flood  gates  and  boiling  rapids. 

Leaving  her  moodily,  as  he  went  down  the  walk,  Stokes 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Nancy  Cotton,  music  roll  in  hand, 
crossing  the  common  in  the  direction  towards  her  father's 
house.  Coming  out  of  the  dimly  lighted  drawing-room 
heavy  with  the  fumes  of  tobacco,  into  the  bright  spring 
twilight,  from  the  presence  of  Delia  and  her  friend  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  divorce  court  to  the  sight  of  the 


22  FIREWEED 

fair  young  girl  going  her  simple  way  about  her  lessons, 
was  to  the  young  man  like  sweet,  pure  air  upon  a  fevered 
brow,  like  spring  water  to  a  parched  throat.  All  sorts 
of  images  came  crowding  to  his  mind,  images  out  of  his 
boyhood  and  early  youth,  before  romance  and  poetry  had 
come  to  seem  dead  letters  to  him. 

But  the  vision  which  lingered  was  that  which  the  music 
roll  must  have  brought  before  him,  —  a  picture  which, 
originating  probably  in  the  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,  had 
haunted  his  school-boy  imagination  and  must  have  lin- 
gered amidst  its  later  cynicism  —  the  vision  of  the  school- 
girl Virginia  crossing  the  Forum  with  her  books.  And 
Philip  Stokes  sighed  deeply  and  without  restraint  as  he 
turned  sharply  in  the  opposite  direction. 

No  one  knows  how  it  was  with  that  sweet  daughter 
of  Virginius.  One  hopes  that  her  heart  was  indeed  free 
from  care  as  she  tripped  across  the  Forum  on  her  way 
to  school.  But  after  all,  youth  does  not  always  imply 
light-heartedness,  and  many  another  young  girl  has  borne 
heavy  secret  sorrow  at  like  years.  Even  sixteen-year-old 
Evelyn  Hope  might  have  been  happier  as  she  lay  with  the 
geranium  flower  in  her  cold  hand  than  on  the  day  she 
plucked  it.  In  any  event,  it  was  probable  that  few  mature 
women  in  all  the  city  were  more  unhappy  than  Nancy 
Cotton  at  that  very  moment  when  she  awaked  idyllic 
images  in  the  mind  of  Philip  Stokes.  As  she  went  back 
and  forth  through  the  quieter  streets  of  the  pleasant  old 
place,  the  girl's  heart  was  like  a  stone,  cold  and  heavy,  its 
dead  weight  dragging  her  down.  And  there  was  seldom 
a  night  that  she  did  not  cry  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER   III 

After  an  interruption  concerning  a  technicality,  Caleb 
Cotton,  counsel  for  Alexander  Manners,  resumed  his 
argument. 

"  The  court  will  have  noted  further  that  my  brother 
has  indicated  that  I  am  the  wrong  sort  of  timber  to  prop 
up  this  particular  kind  of  case:  that  I  am  not  so  con- 
stituted as  to  be  capable  of  understanding  so  complex  and 
delicate  a  personality  as  that  of  his  client :  that  the  rough 
school  where  I  got  my  learning  didn't  fit  me  to  apprehend 
the  culture  that  is  the  slow  growth  of  generations." 

There  was  something  almost  as  surprising  in  Cotton's 
voice  as  in  the  curiously  blue  eyes  under  his  rugged  brows. 
Even  on  this  last  day  of  the  trial,  people  marveled  at  it. 
Clear  and  carrying  easily,  though  he  never  raised  it,  it 
seemed  unusually,  almost  impossibly  low,  being  at  the 
same  time  rich  and  warm  and  singularly  mellow.  Quite 
imlike  the  monotonously  correct  voice  of  the  counsel  for 
the  libellant,  it  was  a  gift  of  nature,  modulated  according 
to  the  speech  of  the  folk  among  whom  his  early  youth 
had  been  spent  (their  speech  having  been  influence'd  by 
the  negroes)  and  deepened  and  enriched  by  years  of 
earnest  and  thoughtful  living. 

Lean,  lank,  bony,  awkward  with  the  awkwardness  of 
the  strength  that  is  called  wiry,  ugly,  and,  despite  his 
stooping,  inordinately  tall  —  he  stood  six  feet  three  in 
his  stockings  —  Caleb  Cotton  faced  the  court,  one  hand 
in  his  pocket,  confronting  an  hostile  atmosphere  with  a 

23 


24  FIREWEED 

rugged  kindness  of  expression  upon  his  plain  worn  face 
that  had  something  large  and  even  patriarchal  about  it, 
though  he  was  still  a  young  man  —  well  under  fifty.  The 
opposition,  supported  by  the  sentiment  of  the  court-room 
and,  indeed,  of  the  city  itself,  had  gone  to  the  limit  of 
personalities;  but  the  lawyer  from  the  West  had  borne 
it  all  calmly  and  rather  humorously.  He  had  not  once 
lost  his  temper  nor  even  his  patience,  —  a  sort  of  large 
patience  that  seemed  to  associate  itself  with  the  monu- 
mental things  of  nature.  No  trace  of  irritation  nor  of 
annoyance  had  been  apparent  in  his  voice  or  manner 
since  the  opening  of  the  case.  And  now  he  met  the  hos- 
tile and  scornful  regard  with  a  friendliness  quite  free 
from  self-consciousness  and  yet  not  impersonal. 

"  That  is  of  course  a  large  question,"  he  went  on,  tak- 
ing his  hand  from  his  pocket  to  lay  it  in  the  palm  of  the 
other,  "  but  if  the  court  will  pardon  me,  I  will  go  into  it 
briefly.  I  own  that  I'm  not  an  educated  man  as  the 
term  is  used  in  the  East.  I  have  studied  the  classics,  and 
I  claim  to  have  read  the  law.  I  have  pored  over  that 
days  and  nights  together.  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar 
twenty-three  years  come  Michaelmas,  and  there's  never 
a  day  passed  since  then,  except  Sundays  and  the  week 
when  death  visited  my  household,  that  I  haven't  read  it 
for  at  least  two  hours.  And  human  nature,  I  have  stud- 
ied more  tlian  that,  and  I  have  seen  and  known  many 
varieties.  When  I  was  fourteen,  my  father  gave  me  my 
freedom  and  the  sum  of  twenty  dollars,  and  I  kissed  my 
mother  and  set  out  to  shift  for  myself.  Since  then  I 
have  made  my  way.  I  worked  at  lumbering  and  smith- 
ing. I  taught  day  school  in  the  farther  West  and  night 
school  in  the  nearer,  studying  at  the  law  along  with  both, 
and  always  mingling  with  my  fellow  men  and  women  and 
endeavoring  to  understand  them  —  I  didn't  have  to  en- 
deavor to  like  them.    Most  of  them  were,  I  grant  you. 


FIREWEED  25 

plain  people,  who  dealt  first  hand,  instead  of  through 
books  or  art,  with  the  things  that  are  the  common  heritage 
of  us  all,  such  as  life,  death,  birth,  marriage,  and  our 
human  relationships,  one  to  another.  At  the  same  time, 
I  have  seen,  in  my  day,  a  few  of  the  other  sort  too,  the 
more  sophisticated  and  those  of  the  finer  manners.  And 
I  cannot  help  feeling  that  they  are  all  made  pretty  much 
alike  as  to  the  essential  things,  so  that  experience  with 
the  one  sort  helps  you  with  the  others.  They  all  have  to 
bow  alike  to  the  natural  law  of  the  universe." 

Pausing,  as  his  hand  mechanically  sought  his  pocket, 
Caleb  Cotton  called  back  the  faraway  gaze  of  his  blue 
eyes  —  the  adventurous  dark  blue  eyes  of  the  sailor,  the 
explorer,  the  discoverer.  And  on  a  sudden,  feeling, 
which  had  been  eager  and  alert,  became  curiously  tense, 
as  if  a  cord  had  been  drawn  taut.  Even  the  artists  whose 
pencils  had  been  busy  with  the  last  caricatures  of  a  figure 
that  might  have  been  in  any  circumstances  an  invitation 
to  travesty,  forebore  their  task  and  sat  as  spell-bound. 

Erica  Manners  felt  the  thrill  and  paled  beneath  her 
lace  veil.  But  she  held  her  pretty  head  proudly  erect, 
and  her  rather  plaintive-looking,  shallow  brown  eyes 
stared  straight  before  her.  She  was  hardly  pretty, 
though  she  was  commonly  called  so,  only  exquisitely  re- 
fined in  appearance,  as  if  she  had  been  cared  for  all  her 
life  like  the  typical  princess  of  the  fairy  tale,  —  as,  indeed, 
she  had.  Her  small  head  was  proudly  set ;  her  small  face 
had  delicate  features  with  a  really  beautiful  though 
haughty  mouth,  her  white  skin  was  smooth  and  clear; 
her  soft  hair  that  would  have  been  "  sandy  "  without  much 
burnishing,  had  acquired  thereby  a  reddish-golden  tone. 
Her  simple,  elegant  costume,  perfect  in  every  detail,  gave 
distinction  to  a  slender,  girlish  figure.  Plainly,  she  was 
one  who  had  lived  all  her  life  in  luxury  and  ease,  one 
who  had  ever  had  her  will,  —  a  will  that  by  nature  and 


26  FIREWEED 

training  had  chosen  the  most  exquisite  things  that  money 
can  buy  or  taste  or  social  position  secure.  A  certain 
wistfulness  of  expression  that  characterized  her  face  in 
repose  did  not  so  much  suggest  anything  fine  or  noble 
as  it  registered  a  sort  of  weariness,  of  satiety,  —  a  refined 
selfishness  that  craves  better  bread  than  wheaten  even 
while  others  hunger  for  black  crusts. 

Philip  Stokes,  who  had  likewise  felt  the  thrill  pass 
through  the  court-room,  felt  it  the  more  sensitively 
through  Erica.  He  knew  without  looking  that  she  had 
paled  because  of  it.  He  had  known  from  the  beginning 
that  though  sentiment  was  with  her,  the  law  was  against 
her,  and  she  would  lose;  yet  this  moment  when  he  be- 
lieved that  she  understood  or  feared  that  the  game  was 
against  her,  was  like  a  stab  at  his  heart.  Still  the  habit- 
ually bored  expression  of  his  handsome  face  did  not  alter, 
though  the  look  he  cast  upon  Manners  from  underneath 
his  long,  sleepy  lashes  was  keen  and  alert. 

Alone  among  them  all,  however,  Alexander  Manners 
appeared  unmoved.  He  sat  as  he  had  done  through- 
out the  proceedings  except  when  in  the  witness  stand, 
his  head  in  his  hand,  his  face  partly  shaded.  It  had  been 
a  pleasant,  rather  genial  face,  with  a  kind  mouth  and 
traces  of  breeding;  but  during  these  searching  weeks,  it 
had  changed  almost  startlingly.  It  not  only  looked  older, 
—  years  older  —  but  it  was  marked  by  an  expression  of 
pain  that  just  stopped  short  of  horror,  —  as  if  the  shock 
with  which  he  had  first  heard  the  ill  news  had  been 
stamped  indelibly  across  brow  and  temples.  Perhaps  his 
comparative  impassivity  now  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  so  constantly  and  so  tragically  moved  through- 
out that  he  could  suffer  nothing  more. 

The  pause  only  seemed  long.  Again  Cotton  withdrew 
his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  enumerate  his 
points  upon  it  with  the  long  index  finger  of  the  other. 


FIREWEED  27 

"  The  charges  against  my  client  which  Mr.  Goldthwaite 
considers  sufficient  to  warrant  the  demand  that  the  court 
grant  a  decree  of  absolute  divorce  to  the  libellant  are 
these,"  he  went  on,  his  voice  reaching  every  corner  of  the 
room  without  effort  on  his  part,  while  he  seemed  merely 
to  be  speaking  confidentially  to  the  judge.  "  In  the  first 
place,  Mr.  Manners  is  charged  with  total  lack  of  sym- 
pathy with  his  wife's  devotion  to  poetry  and  music.  Sec- 
ondly, it  is  claimed  that  he  was  jealous,  and,  probably  as 
a  consequence,  irritable.  He  objected  to  Mrs.  Manners's 
receiving  calls  from  other  men  in  his  absence,  even 
though  they  were  old  friends,  and  likewise  to  her  driving 
alone  with  them.  He  made  what  was  referred  to  as  a  '  big 
row  '  because  she  wished  to  go  on  yachting  trips  with  par- 
ties consisting  of  an  equal  number  of  men  and  women, 
when  he  could  not  accompany  her.  He  didn't  even  ap- 
prove of  her  women  friends  and  said  harsh  things  about 
them:  he  objected  to  her  keeping  a  nurse  she  had  em- 
ployed during  illness  as  a  companion  afterwards.  Finally, 
he  took  the  death  of  their  only  child  too  much  to  heart. 
He  seemed  to  blame  her  because  it  died,  and  was  always 
saying  or  intimating  that  a  home  is  not  a  home  without 
children." 

Again  his  hand  sought  the  shelter  of  his  pocket,  and 
his  right  hip  and  shoulder  slouched. 

"  These  are  the  only  arguments,  the  court  will  have 
noted,  that  can  be  deduced  from  the  mass  of  testimony 
that  has  been  given.  The  court  is  asked  to  affirm  that 
these  constitute  cruel  and  abusive  treatment;  and  yet,  I 
confess  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  bearing  only  such 
indignities,  the  libellant  can  be  termed  an  ill-used  wife. 
And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  reckoning  on  the  other 
side?  This  woman  married  Mr.  Manners  because  of 
his  wealth  —  no  one  has  ventured  to  dispute  that  fact. 
Well,  she  has  had  it.     All  the  money  she  has  ever  asked 


28  FIREWEED 

for,  she  owns  that  she  has  had.  She  spent  it  lavishly  — 
perhaps  extravagantly.  Furthermore,  she  desires  and 
expects  to  go  on  doing  so.  In  other  words,  she  wishes 
to  repudiate  utterly  the  contract  to  which  she  was  a 
party,  and  yet  to  continue  to  receive  the  financial  benefit 
that  accrued  therefrom.  She  asks  that  the  court  free 
her  from  any  obligation  to  her  husband,  at  the  same  time 
compelling  him  to  support  her  in  luxury.  And  what  of 
the  weight  of  arguments  to  support  this  claim  ?  " 

Alexander  Manners  suddenly  raised  his  head.  His 
friends  feared  he  was  about  to  cry  out  in  protest.  But 
he  dropped  it  into  his  hand  again  as  Cotton  went  on. 

"As  to  art  and  poetry,"  he  said  slowly,  "as  to  Shake- 
speare and  the  musical  glasses,  —  Mr.  Manners  possessed 
at  the  time  she  married  him  the  same  amount  —  little  or 
great  —  of  appreciation  for  such  things,  as  he  did  when 
this  woman  decided  that  was  a  prime  reason  for  refusing 
longer  to  share  the  home  he  had  given  her.  As  to  whether 
she  might  have  been  able,  meantime,  to  have  increased 
his  enjoyment  of  art  and  music,  we  cannot  say;  for  she 
confesses  that  she  made  no  effort  whatever  in  such  direc- 
tion. Leaving  him  to  himself  evenings  and  Sundays  — 
the  only  leisure  he  had  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
year,  she  flitted  about  from  one  place  to  another  where 
these  higher  intellectual  topics  were  bandied  and  dis- 
cussed. He  made  no  objection ;  and  therefore  I  contend 
that  this  woman  did  not  suffer  unduly  from  his  want  of 
sympathy  in  that  regard. 

"  As  to  his  jealousy,  —  my  client  had  a  right  to  consider 
his  own  honor.  In  becoming  a  wife,  a  woman  is  under- 
stood to  renounce  certain  rights  and  privileges  she  may 
enjoy  as  a  single  woman.  Mrs.  Manners  has  acknowl- 
edged that  the  callers  to  whom  her  husband  took  excep- 
tion were  actually  visitors,  spending  long  afternoons  with 
her  alone  in  a  small  parlor;  —  also,  that  more  than  once 


FIREWEED  29 

when  Mr.  Manners  returned  home  unexpectedly,  she  let 
them  out  by  a  side  door;  —  also,  that  when  she  drove 
with  one  or  another,  she  met  him  on  the  street  comer 
and  was  dropped  there  on  her  return.  Now  I  reckon 
that  by  many  persons,  such  conduct  would  be  allowed  to 
be  cause  for  at  least  displeasure;  and  should  an  husband 
show  signs  of  jealousy  in  such  circumstances,  who  could 
consider  such  natural  feeling  could  warrant  his  wife  in 
expecting  to  divorce  him  ? 

"  Again,  that  he  should  have  objected  to  her  women 
friends  is  undoubtedly  to  be  deprecated,  and  yet  rather 
to  have  been  expected.  Mrs.  Manners  has  admitted  that 
they  not  only  encouraged  her  in  going  counter  to  my 
client's  wishes,  but  that  they  joined  her  in  ridiculing  him. 
Wherefore,  that  he  should  have  said  uncomplimentary 
things  about  them  was  natural  and  human,  and  hardly  to 
be  pronounced  cruel  and  abusive  treatment  of  her.  The 
case  of  the  nurse  who  became  her  companion  belongs  in 
the  same  category :  if  she  sustained  his  wife  in  her  oppo- 
sition to  him,  Mr.  Manners  had  a  right  to  object  to  her 
alien  presence  in  his  house." 

Cotton  paused  and  glanced  gravely  about  him.  With 
that  long  forefinger  which  might  have  been  the  index  of 
a  painted  sign-board,  he  touched  the  fourth  finger  of  his 
left  hand,  upon  which  a  ring  with  a  large  dark  seal 
dangled  loosely,  held  in  place  only  by  the  knuckle.  The 
gesture  was  not  lost  upon  Erica  Manners.  She  had  had 
a  certain  amount  of  amusement  out  of  that  ring,  weaving 
absurd  legends  wherein  it  had  been  presented  to  Caleb 
Cotton  with  grotesque  ceremony  as  a  parting  memento 
when  he  left  the  West. 

"  The  question  of  the  child  remains,"  he  said  quietly 
and  very  impressively.  "  This  woman,  blaming  her  hus- 
band for  caring  too  much  for  the  little  one,  endeavors, 
through  her  explanation  why  she  did  not  care  for  her 


3©  FIREWEED 

baby  at  all,  not  only  to  prove  herself  blameless  but  even 
praiseworthy,  or  at  least  an  object  of  tender  pity.  Mrs. 
Manners  claims  that  she  was  too  young  to  be  a  mother; 
that,  in  giving  birth  to  the  child,  she  nearly  lost  her  life ; 
and  finally,  that,  knowing  it  to  be  a  sickly  infant  that  the 
physician  believed  could  not  survive,  she  did  not  allow 
herself  to  become  attached  to  it." 

At  a  moment  when  it  might  have  been  expected  that 
one  would  look  into  another's  eyes,  everyone  in  that  court- 
room looked  straight  ahead.  Only  Philip  Stokes,  under 
the  heavy  screen  of  his  lashes,  glanced  towards  Alexander 
Manners  and  saw  how  ghastly  white  he  was. 

"  Of  course,"  Cotton  was  saying  slowly,  "  there  are 
instances  of  mother-love  triumphing  and  snatching  weakly 
infants  from  the  very  jaws  of  death,  —  even  girl-mothers, 
years  younger  than  this  woman,  who  was  one-and-twenty 
when  her  child  was  born.  I  doubt  not  that  some  of  the 
world's  heroes  would  never  have  survived  to  benefit 
humanity  by  their  mighty  achievements  had  it  not  been 
for  some  self -devoted  young  mother  giving  her  days  and 
nights,  her  strength  and  courage,  to  their  rearing.  And 
setting  aside  the  heroes,  I  suppose  that  since  the  very 
beginning  of  family  life  there  has  been  a  deal  of  love 
poured  out,  —  thrown  away,  if  you  will,  —  on  sickly 
babes  that  didn't  live  to  comfort  their  parents  or  to  prove 
a  blessing  to  mankind.  All  down  the  ages,  Rachels  have 
been  mourning  their  lost  little  ones;  and  yet,  even  so, 
few  of  them  would  have  missed  the  chance  to  have  so 
loved.  Perhaps  they  would  not  put  it  into  words,  but 
they  would  have  dimly  felt  that  the  experience  of  mother- 
hood is  a  rich  experience :  that  to  have  lived  deeply  is  to 
have  known  sorrow  as  well  as  joy. 

"  Whether  this  woman  has  lived  thus  richly,  it  con- 
cerns not  me.  My  concern  is  to  show  why  she  should 
not  be  granted  a  decree  of  divorce  from  my  client.     I 


FIREWEED  31 

have  endeavored  to  present  and  to  meet  the  charges 
brought  against  him.  It  remains  only  to  summarize  them 
in  a  few  sentences. 

"  I  submit,  then,  that  this  woman,  who  has  never  in  the 
whole  course  of  her  life  known  what  it  means  to  want 
anything,  entered  into  a  contract  with  this  man  with  the 
single  view  of  getting  control  of  such  part  of  his  wealth 
as  she  might  desire.  She  received  from  him  not  only 
that  money,  poured  out  abundantly,  but  other  things 
stipulated  in  the  contract,  —  love,  honor,  and  the  will  to 
cherish  her  until  such  time  as  death  should  separate  the 
one  from  the  other.  On  her  part,  she  repudiated  all  the 
terms  of  the  agreement.  She  disdained  to  love  her  hus- 
band, was  careless  of  his  honor,  and  having  derived  the 
gain  she  wished  from  the  association,  chooses  to  have  the 
partnership  dissolved,  the  contract  annulled,  only  still 
retaining  her  financial  advantage  after  the  dissolution. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  such  things  cannot  be.  I  cannot 
believe  that  this  court  or  any  court  of  justice  in  these 
United  States  will  find  grounds  or  any  single  ground  for 
granting  such  decree." 

As  Caleb  Cotton  ceased,  the  silence  in  the  court-room 
was  so  intense  as  to  be  almost  appalling.  Even  those  who 
were  merely  spectators  felt  their  hearts  beating  wildly 
within  their  bosoms  and  almost  feared  they  were  thereby 
disturbing  that  awful  stillness.  Striking  personality  as 
the  speaker  was,  he  had  suddenly  and  mysteriously  seemed 
transformed  into  an  abstract  voice,  like  the  voice  of  Jus- 
tice, —  or  it  was  as  if  the  moral  law  had  proclaimed  itself. 
And  to  one  or  two,  indeed,  it  was  almost  as  if  there  had 
been  no  voice,  no  sound,  but  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
solemnity  of  utter  silence,  a  hand  had  written  on  the  wall. 

It  was  like  a  blow  to  Erica  Manners ;  she  heard  nothing 
more,  and  scarcely  spoke  all  the  rest  of  that  day.    It  was 


32  FIREWEED 

not  until  evening  that  she  recovered  her  poise  sufficiently 
to  take  account  of  herself.  Confident  to  the  very  end, 
she  knew  now  that  she  had  lost.  But  she  set  her  teeth 
and  forced  herself  to  be  cool  until  she  should  learn  from 
her  lawyer  whether  there  was  a  chance  of  appealing  to 
a  higher  court.  Only  she  would  wait  for  the  verdict 
before  doing  that;  she  wouldn't  admit  until  she  had  to 
the  possibility  of  the  inevitable. 

She  would  not  speak  to  Miss  Lancaster  lest  she  some- 
how give  her  an  intimation  of  her  discouragement,  and 
when  Miss  Lancaster  ventured  an  unsolicited  remark, 
she  snubbed  her  rudely. 

But  she  couldn't  keep  up  the  pretense.  When,  shortly 
after  midnight,  Miss  Lancaster  turned  to  leave  her  after 
the  customary  massage,  Erica  Manners  broke  from  her 
self-imposed  bonds. 

"  I  will  never  live  with  that  man  again,  and  they  cannot 
force  me  to ! "  she  declared  in  low,  fierce  accents. 

Elizabeth  Lancaster,  who  was  smarting  with  resent- 
ment, withheld  her  customary  echo.  As  she  left  the  room 
she  breathed  a  silent,  vindictive  "  You'll  jolly  well  have 
to ! "  which  matched  her  patron's  words  in  intensity. 

Fate  ordained  otherwise.  On  that  night  of  the  six- 
teenth May,  1914,  as  the  two  men  were  about  to  enter 
their  club,  Alexander  Manners  dropped  dead,  falling  into 
the  arms  of  John  Blackwood  who  was  on  the  step  below. 
The  next  morning  the  news  was  abroad  everywhere. 


CHAPTER   IV 

It  was  natural  and  quite  to  be  expected  that  the  death 
of  Alexander  Manners,  falling  as  it  did,  should  be  a  ter- 
rible shock  to  John  Blackwood;  and  no  cwie  who  knew 
the  latter  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  reserved  and 
kindly  gentleman  had  apparently  aged  by  many  years 
since  the  death  of  his  intimate,  lifelong  friend.  But  that 
Caleb  Cotton,  Blackwood's  partner  and  Manners's  law- 
yer, should  have  taken  his  death  sadly  to  heart  seemed, 
to  the  few  who  were  aware  of  it,  strange  and  even  inex- 
plicable. For  Cotton  had  known  his  client  only  slightly 
up  to  the  beginning  of  the  trial,  and  though  during  the 
course  of  it  a  genuine  personal  regard  had  grown  up 
between  them,  it  was  not  yet  sufficiently  warm  to  account 
for  the  effect  Manners's  death  seemed  to  have  upon  the 
lawyer.  He  looked  like  one  smitten  by  an  almost  vital 
blow. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  suffered  vicariously.  Years 
before,  Caleb  Cotton  had  been  connected  with  John 
Blackwood  in  a  railway  case  in  the  Middle  West  which 
had  stretched  out  over  a  year.  He  had  conceived  an 
admiration  for  the  older  man  which  had  grown  into  warm 
affection  during  the  interval  between  that  period  and  the 
time  when  Blackwood,  tremendously  impressed  on  his 
part  by  Cotton,  had  brought  him  on  East  to  become  his 
partner.  In  the  past  two  years  of  close  association,  the 
big,  lonely  heart  of  the  Westerner  had  gone  out  wholly 
and  unreservedly  to  the  quiet  scholarly  lawyer,  the  pro- 

33 


34  FIREWEED 

found  thinker,  the  kindly  gentleman,  whose  professional 
standing  seemed  to  intensify  his  isolation.  He  who  had 
never  realized  his  own  loneliness  realized  Blackwood's 
in  an  almost  disproportionate  manner.  And  now  he  felt 
to  the  utmost  the  cruelty  of  the  loss  of  Blackwood's  friend 
under  peculiarly  painful  circumstances. 

Moreover,  he  blamed  himself,  —  if  not  as  a  contribut- 
ing cause  of  Manners's  death,  at  least  as  having  made  its 
significance  more  painful.  He  had  been  over  severe  to- 
wards the  woman  whom,  through  it  all,  Alexander  Man- 
ners had  loved.  He  had  hurt  him  terribly  —  overmuch  — 
through  her.  He  had  only,  it  is  true,  striven  with  all 
his  might,  absolutely  convinced  of  the  righteousness  of 
his  cause,  that  justice  might  be  done  his  friend's  good 
friend.  But  he  had  bungled,  blundered.  He  had  been 
too  hard,  not  upon  the  woman,  had  she  alone  been  con- 
cerned, but  for  the  man  who  was  so  much  finer-tempered 
that  blows  that  glanced  off  her  thick  armor  penetrated 
straight  to  his  heart.  Nancy  Cotton  heard  her  father 
pacing  the  floor  of  his  chamber  that  midnight  of  the  i6th 
May  and  many  subsequent  midnights. 

Blackwood,  who  had  had  no  shadow  of  criticism,  but 
had  only  been  drawn  the  more  dosely  to  his  partner  dur- 
ing the  course  of  the  trial  and  by  the  death  of  his  friend, 
went  away  directly  after  Alexander  Manners's  funeral 
to  recuperate  from  the  only  shock  and  the  greatest  grief 
of  his  life.  Returning  after  three  weeks'  absence,  he 
found  Cotton  a  stalking  shadow  of  his  former  self. 
Always  thin  and  gaunt,  the  man  was  worn  to  emaciation, 
with  hollow  eyes  and  cheeks  and  deepened  lines  in  his 
brow  and  about  his  large  humorous  mouth.  Understand- 
ing dimly,  and  deeply  moved,  John  Blackwood  pondered 
the  matter  for  a  day  and  a  night.  He  dropped  into  Cot- 
ton's office  late  the  following  afternoon. 

Caleb  Cotton,  in  the  act  of  stuffing  papers  and  blue 


FIREWEED  35 

books  into  his  bag,  looked  up  in  surprise  which  deepened 
to  amazement  as  his  partner  without  preHminary  pro- 
posed that  he  should  take  the  three  summer  months  for  a 
holiday. 

"  Why,  John  Blackwood,  what  put  that  queer  notion 
into  your  head  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Blackwood  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigar  after  pressing 
one  upon  his  friend  who  preferred  his  pipe. 

"  See  here,  Cotton,  when  was  your  last  vacation,  any- 
how ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  recollect."  Cotton  smiled  in  his  comical  fash- 
ion, tipping  back  in  his  chair.  His  mouth  was  large,  his 
jaw  bony  and  prominent,  his  upper  lip  over  long ;  and  his 
smile,  as  well  as  being  irresistibly  frank,  was  usually 
irresistibly  droll  also. 

"  Man,  have  you  had  a  week  off  these  ten  years?  " 

Cotton  lighted  his  cigar  while  he  considered. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  have,  partner,"  he  returned. 

"  Great  Scott!  have  you  ever  had  a  week's  vacation?  " 

"  Perhaps  never  a  full  week,  partner,  —  not  since  I 
was  fourteen,"  he  said  simply.  "  But  after  all,  what 
would  I  do  with  it  ?  "  He  waved  the  cigar  aloft.  "  Most 
likely  I'd  simply  wander  around  visiting  courts  of  law. 
For  you  see,  after  all,  there's  nothing  I  like  so  well  as 
practising  law." 

"  There's  Europe,"  suggested  Blackwood.  "  That  was 
why  I  said  three  months  instead  of  two.  Wouldn't  you 
enjoy  visiting  foreign  shores  —  foreign  court-rooms,  if 
you  will  ?  " 

The  faraway  look  that  came  so  readily  to  Cotton's 
adventurous  blue  eyes  shone  forth  almost  romantically. 

"  For  court-rooms,  I  shouldn't,  my  dear  Blackwood, 
go  further  afield  than  the  U.  S.  A.,"  he  declared,  "  but  — 
well,  I  certainly  should  like  a  chance  to  see  the  Roman 
Forum.     I  have  read  in  the  history  of  Rome  off  and  on 


36  FIREWEED 

for  twenty-odd  years  —  I  got  interested  when  I  read 
Caesar  and  Cicero  and  because  of  Roman  Law.  Yes,  and 
I'd  like  well  to  see  the  Tower  of  London  and  Napoleon's 
tomb,  and  the  flags  that  went  through  his  campaigns  with 
him.  And  I  should  like  visiting  Venice  and  sailing  in  a 
gondola,  and  I  shouldn't  mind  a  look  at  the  harbor  of 
Constantinople,  —  I  believe  it's  the  second  largest  in  the 
world.  Some  day,  later  on,  I  really  mean  to  see  all  those 
things  and  more;  but  I  want  to  be  ready  for  'em,  and 
I'm  not  ready  now,  not  by  a  long  shot." 

"  Never  mind  that,  Now's  your  chance,  Cotton," 
Blackwood  asseverated.  "  You  ought  to  go  this  sum- 
mer and  take  Nancy,  There'll  never  be  a  better  time  for 
you  to  leave  the  office.  I've  had  a  rest  and  now  I  want 
to  work  like  a  dog  for  three  months  until  my  mind  gets 
settled  again.  I  shall  be  here  straight  through  the  sum- 
mer. Another  year  it  might  not  be  easy  for  you  to  get 
away  for  so  long,  —  it  will  never  be  thus  simple  again, 
in  all  probability.  And  it  would  be  first  rate  for  Nancy, 
—  brace  her  up  for  another  winter.  The  girl  looks  deli- 
cate and  a  change  of  that  sort  would  work  wonders  with 
her." 

Cotton  started  violently.  Nancy  was  the  apple  of  his 
eye.  She  had  been  ailing,  and  he  had  realized  it  only 
vaguely.  He  had  vaguely  supposed  she  was  growing  too 
fast.  He  dropped  his  cigar  upon  a  tray  on  the  desk 
and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 

"  Oh  there's  nothing  to  be  worried  over,  believe  me. 
Cotton,"  Blackwood  cried  quickly.  "  There's  nothing 
wrong  with  the  child,  I'm  sure.  And  yet,  I  think  it 
might  be  well  to  take  her  abroad  before  she  gets  really 
run  down.  You  would  hardly  want  to  send  her  with 
someone  else  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Blackwood,  we  neither  of  us  could  stand  that," 
Cotton   declared.     "  Nanny's   scarcely  been   out   of   my 


FIREWEED  37 

sight  since  she  was  a  baby.  Her  mother  was  an  invalid 
and  died  when  Nanny  was  six." 

"  Then  take  both  my  advice  and  your  chance  and  go 
with  her.  Catch  one  of  the  last  June  boats  if  you  pos- 
sibly can.  Stokes  has  crossed  more  recently  than  I  and 
knows  the  ropes.  He'll  help  put  the  thing  through.  And 
mark  my  word,  you'll  have  a  different  daughter  to  bring 
back." 

Cotton  picked  up  his  cigar  and  puffed  at  it  as  if  it 
were  a  pipe.  For  some  moments  there  was  silence  be- 
tween them. 

"I'll  consider  it  overnight ;  but  I  reckon  you've  won, 
partner,"  Cotton  said  finally.  And  John  Blackwood  de- 
parted exultantly. 

Cotton  proposed  it  to  his  daughter  that  night.  Nancy 
turned  deadly  pale.  A  year  ago,  six  months  ago,  the 
prospect  of  such  a  journey  with  her  father  would  have 
filled  the  girl  with  the  height  of  exultation.  To-day  the 
proposal  fell  upon  her  sad  heart  like  a  blow,  seeming  to 
make  its  burden  heavier.  In  the  suddenness  of  it,  she 
could  have  cried  out.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to  refrain 
from  wild  protestations.  Only  the  realization  that  her 
father's  partner  must  have  suggested  it  in  the  interest  of 
his  health  steadied  her,  enabled  her  to  conquer  the  inten- 
sity of  her  shrinking  and  endeavor  to  simulate  interest 
and  perhaps  excitement. 

The  invitation  was  like  a  death  sentence,  except  that 
its  misery  was  to  be  long  drawn  out.  For  Nancy  Cotton, 
like  Stokes,  had  come  to  recognize  different  shades  of 
unhappiness.  Only  in  her  case  it  was  sadder  and  more 
pitiful  in  that  the  girl  was  young,  even  for  her  seventeen 
years,  she  was  good  and  innocent,  and  her  passion,  prema- 
ture. An  almost  tragic  change  had  come  over  the  child 
in  those  past  six  months  during  which  Philip  Stokes,  in 
the  pursuit  of  his  own  moral  and  temporal  well-being, 


38  FIREWEED 

had  devoted  the  remnant  of  his  will  power  to  the  attempt 
to  forget  Erica  Manners,  —  deliberately  striving  to  force 
a  sufficient  interest  in  Nancy  Cotton  to  create  a  back-fire 
against  his  hopeless,  consuming  passion. 

Nancy  had  irrevocably  yielded  her  heart  and  her  happi- 
ness into  his  hands  before  she  realized  what  was  happen- 
ing ;  and  she  had  hardly  learned  that  her  error  was  fatal, 
before  she  knew  that  it  was  likewise  tragic.  The  story 
of  Stokes's  infatuation  for  Mrs.  Manners  came  to  her 
ears  suddenly  and  with  such  conviction  that  she  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  believe  it.  It  tallied  too  closely  with 
circumstances  as  she  knew  them,  to  be  questioned;  and 
little  as  the  girl  mingled  with  others,  it  was  not  long 
before  she  came  to  know  that  it  was  generally  understood 
throughout  St.  Vincent  that  this  hopeless  passion  had 
made  him  the  indolent,  unambitious,  cynical,  weary  man 
he  was  instead  of  the  brilliant  youth  he  might  have  been. 

At  the  time  her  father  made  the  announcement  which 
he  believed  would  be  so  delightful  to  her,  Nancy  had 
become  accustomed  to  hiding  her  sorrow;  and  Cotton 
merely  thought  she  had  not  sufficient  strength  to  support 
the  joyful  excitement.  And  from  that  moment  he  deter- 
mined that  nothing  should  stand  in  the  way  of  the  trip 
to  Europe. 

He  blamed  himself  severely  in  that  he  had  not  before 
noticed  the  change  in  his  daughter  which  others  besides 
John  Blackwood  must  have  noticed,  and  which  was  now 
so  startlingly  apparent  to  him.  Nancy  was  terribly  thin. 
She  had  lost  her  pretty  color;  she  looked  sadly  as  her 
mother  had  looked  just  before  she  broke  down  and 
became  an  invalid.  As  he  would  have  left  the  room  to 
consult  Cousin  Abby,  the  housekeeper,  who  was  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  Nancy's  mother,  he  heard  the  door  bell 
ring  and  waited  until  she  should  have  answered  it.  Then, 
as  his  eyes  fell  on  his  daughter  and  he  saw  her  face 


FIREWEED  39 

flooded  with  delicate  color,  he  said  to  himself  she  was 
better  already  at  the  mere  thought  of  the  holiday  journey. 

The  caller  was  Stokes,  who  had  resumed  of  late  his 
habit  of  dropping  in  once  or  twice  a  week.  He  heard 
the  news  Cotton  had  to  relate  with  an  interest  almost 
eager,  —  his  nearest  approach  to  enthusiasm.  For  he 
was  singularly,  rather  romantically  attached  to  Caleb 
Cotton. 

Presently,  he  turned  to  the  girl  in  the  shadow. 

"This  will  be  your  first  crossing,  Miss  Nancy?"  he 
asked  kindly,  opening  his  sleepy  eyes  rather  wider  than 
usual. 

Nancy,  paler  now  than  ever,  assented  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"  Well,  by  George,  I  envy  you !  "  he  declared,  still  in 
that  kindly  way  in  which  one  speaks  to  a  school-girl. 
"  Do  you  know,  a  jaded  beggar  like  yours  truly  has  simply 
to  hold  his  breath  to  think  of  what  it'll  all  mean  to  the 
like  of  you.  Miss  Nancy.  And  to  ship  with  such  a  mate 
as  your  father !     Great  Scott !     When  do  you  sail  ?  " 

One  word,  one  most  conventional  expression  of  regret 
for  their  going  would  have  meant  everything  to  the  girl. 
This  eagerness  to  have  her  gone  stabbed  her  cruelly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  cried,  "  not  for  a  long  time 
yet,  I  think.     I  —  only  knew  of  it  an  hour  ago." 

"  The  surprise  nearly  took  her  breath  away,"  com- 
mented Cotton.  "  Blackwood  wants  us  to  catch  a  June 
boat." 

"  Sure,  June's  the  time,  since  you've  lost  May,"  said 
Stokes.  "  Well,  you're  right  in  the  swim.  Everybody's 
doing  it.  Mrs.  Manners  is  on  the  other  side  already,  I 
understand." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  ejaculated  Cotton  in  what  the  lady 
mentioned  would  have  called  his  choicest  Western 
manner. 


40  FIREWEED 

"  Sure  thing.  I  heard  it  only  yesterday.  She  went 
up  into  the  country  the  day  her  husband  was  buried,  and 
this  tidings  that  she  had  sailed  was  the  first  news  any  one 
had  of  her." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  asked  my  sister  if  she  had  gone  into  mourning," 
he  added  cynically.  "  Curious,  isn't  it,  that  she  should 
be  a  true-blue  widow  with  a  big  fortune,  when  all  she 
had  hoped  for  was  to  become  a  grass  widow  with  ali- 
mony ?  " 

Stokes  continually  mentioned  Mrs.  Manners,  and  in- 
variably in  cynical,  uncomplimentary  terms;  but  it  hap- 
pened that  Nancy  Cotton  had  never  before  heard  him 
speak  her  name.  She  could  scarcely  believe  that  she  had 
heard  aright.  Surely  he  would  not  speak  thus  lightly  of 
one  for  whom  he  cared !  He  must  have  ceased  to  do  so. 
Those  shocking  revelations  of  the  trial,  of  which  she  had 
had  vague  intimations,  must  have  sickened  him. 

"  I  suppose  she  is  sorry  now  that  she  brought  the 
trial  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

Again,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  In  that  case,  you 
see.  Manners  would  still,  in  all  likelihood,  be  alive,  and 
everything  as  of  old.  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Manners  wouldn't 
stand  for  that." 

"  Now,  Phil,  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,"  protested 
Cotton. 

"  But  pappy,"  cried  Nancy,  scarcely  realizing  what  she 
said,  "  Mrs.  Manners  is  a  very  wicked  woman.  I  heard 
them  talking  at  Miss  Logan's  about  her." 

Stokes  laughed  out. 

"  Why  Miss  Nancy !  "  he  cried  banteringly,  "  to  think 
of  your  listening  to  old  wives'  gossip.  I  never  would 
have  believed  it  if  you  hadn't  yourself  divulged  it." 

Nancy  flushed.  Born  in  the  West,  she  looked  never- 
theless to  Stokes  like  photographs  of  New  England  g^rls 


FIREWEED  41 

of  a  generation  or  more  earlier  in  his  mother's  album  at 
the  old  place  up  in  the  country.  And  yet,  "  old-fash- 
ioned "  wasn't  adequate,  perhaps  no  adjective  was,  to 
describe  Nancy,  who  suggested  all  sorts  of  sweet  images. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  easier  to  express  the  effect  the  girl 
made  upon  one  by  spiritual  rather  than  aesthetic  terms. 
She  was  like  a  white  flame,  a  pure,  colorless  radiance. 

Seeing  her  after  ,the  long  interval,  Stokes  had  realized 
at  once  the  change  that  had  come  over  her.  Thin  and 
wan;  there  was  a  sad,  almost  hurt  look  in  the  girl's 
eyes;  and  he,  at  once  so  wise  and  so  weary,  read  this, 
reluctantly  clear-sighted.  Some  girlish  grief  had  come 
to  her,  he  decided,  and  was  gently  sorry.  But  he  thought 
it  to  be  no  more  serious  than  the  loss  of  a  kitten  or  a 
pet  canary,  magnified  by  her  sensitive  nature.  And  he 
was  as  ever  gently  playful  when  addressing  her. 

The  flush  died  out.  Nancy  persisted  in  her  effort  to 
set  her  father  right. 

"  Pappy,  they  said  she  didn't  even  care  for  her  little 
baby,  nor  mind  when  it  died,  and  — " 

She  paused  and  flushed  the  more  deeply. 

"  Oh,  pappy,  you  don't  like  me  to  repeat  such  things  ?  " 
she  cried  deprecatingly. 

"  Why,  honey,  I  never  knew  you  to  do  any  such  thing 
before,"  returned  her  father  in  some  surprise.  "  But  I 
think  it's  rather  a  good  plan  not  to  say  people  are  wicked 
unless  they  happen  to  be  right  on  the  spot.  And  in  this 
case,  if  Mrs.  Manners  did  wrong,  she  certainly  has  re- 
ceived a  terrible  punishment." 

"  None  the  less,  sympathy  is  rather  wasted  on  her," 
Stokes  remarked  laconically.  "  She  didn't,  after  all,  you 
see,  take  Manners's  death  so  bloomin'  hard.  What  she 
minded  most,  believe  me,  was  the  flop-over  of  public  sen- 
timent. She  had  reached  the  point  of  being  absolutely 
dotty  over  the  publicity  —  the  notoriety  if  you  will  —  of 


42  FIREWEED 

that  trial ;  she  really  gloated  over  the  washing  and  airing 
of  her  dirty  linen  before  that  inquisitive  crowd  that  was 
with  her  from  the  start.  But  Mr.  Manners's  death 
changed  all  that.  On  a  sudden,  feeling  was  dead  against 
her.     And  it  hit  hard." 

Nancy  was  gazing  at  him  almost  in  fascination.  What 
did  it  mean?  To  her  Philip  Stokes  was  the  embodiment 
of  wisdom,  —  wisdom  in  the  Biblical  sense,  coupled  with 
a  certain  esoteric  knowledge  which  gave  him  that  air  of 
cynical,  indifferent  yet  noble  elegance  which  was  to  her 
mind  the  modem  equivalent  of  the  chivalry  of  old.  How 
clearly  he  saw  into  the  meaning  of  things !  How  readily 
he  separated  the  ill  from  the  good.  Of  course,  such  an 
one  couldn't  care  for  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Manners  — 
couldn't  at  least  continue  to  care  for  her  after  he  had 
come  to  know  her  fully.  His  every  word  confuted  the 
things  said  against  him.     And  yet  — 

Moving  farther  into  the  shadow,  the  girl  found  herself 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  Well,  it's  not  unlikely  that  that  may  work  out  for  the 
best,"  Cotton  commented  hopefully,  "  You  never  can 
tell.  Public  opinion  is  truly  a  great  steadying  force.  I 
am  glad  that  Mrs.  Manners  has  gone  to  Europe,  and  I'm 
glad  that  she  is  still  young.  With  her  youth  and  under 
fresh  skies,  she  may  apply  the  lesson  she  seemed  to 
repudiate  here." 

"  She's  young  only  in  years,"  Stokes  observed.  Then 
dropping  the  cynical  tone,  he  asked  with  some  eagerness : 
"  And  how  do  you  go,  Mr.  Cotton,  —  lone  hand  ?  " 

Cotton's  worn  face,  which  seemed  to  have  added  weary 
lines  as  the  trial  was  recalled,  lighted  up.  "  What  do  you 
think !  It  has  come  to  me  since  you  rang  that  door  bell 
that  the  way  is  clear  for  us.  I  reckon  there's  a  party 
we  can  join.  An  old  friend  and  neighbor  of  ours  men- 
tioned in  a  letter  that  she  wrote  early  in  the  spring  that 


FIREWEED  43 

she  was  going  to  Europe  to  spend  the  summer  with  a 
party  being  made  up  out  there.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Burgess, 
Presbyterian  pastor  in  a  city  five  miles  north  of  Buell, 
our  old  home,  has  been  conducting  tours  for  a  dozen 
summers,  more  or  less,  and  he's  on  the  job  this  year. 
There  are  some  school  teachers  going,  so  he  won't  be 
starting  until  well  along  in  June ;  and  if  we  can't  get  the 
same  boat,  I  feel  certain  we  can  catch  him  easily.  I 
believe  I  will  write  him  to-night." 

"Why  not  telegraph?"  suggested  Stokes.  "Write  it 
out  and  I'll  send  it  as  I  go  home." 

Cotton  accepted  the  amendment,  pulled  out  his  pocket 
book,  scribbled  two  lines  with  a  lawyer's  facility  and 
handed  it  to  the  younger  man. 

"I  didn't  ask  you  whether  you  approved  of  that  way  of 
traveling,"  he  remarked. 

"  For  the  first  time  crossing,  it's  certainly  mighty  con- 
venient not  to  be  bothered  in  the  matter  of  routes,  book- 
ings, unfamiliar  time-tables,  hotel  tariffs  and  foreign 
tongues,"  Stokes  admitted.  "  At  the  same  time  you  are 
pretty  constantly  mixed  up  with  a  job  lot  of  people,"  he 
added. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  boy,  but  I  like  that  part  of  it  almost 
best  of  all ! "  cried  Cotton.  "  You  know,  I've  been  so 
busy  all  my  life  mlit  I  never  yet  saw  anything  like  what 
I  want  to  see  of  people,  of  my  fellow  human  beings.  The 
plain  truth  is  that  I  just  dote  on  seeing  them  and  watching 
them  and  talking  with  them  by  the  hour,  if  only  I  can 
find  the  hour.  And  do  you  know,  Phil,  outside  the  courts 
of  law,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  great  majority  of  people 
hadn't  any  faults  at  all,  —  none  that  interfere  with  your 
liking  'em." 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  young  man  gravely,  his  words 
falling  coldly  on  Nancy's  heart,  "  sometimes  it  seems  as 
if  they  were  the  fortunate  ones,  those  who  have  been 


44  FIREWEED 

before  the  courts.  Sometimes  I  wish  that  all  our  doings 
were  subject  to  just  that :  —  that  they  be  carried  before  a 
court  of  law  and  pronounced  right  or  wrong,  and  then 
either  given  over  in  the  latter  case,  or,  if  held  to,  held  to 
labeled  plainly.  We  are  an  unhonest  lot,  Mr.  Cotton, 
with  our  secret  sins." 

"  But  don't  forget  the  secret  virtues,  Phil.  There's  a 
heap  of  them,  too,"  the  older  lawyer  admonished  him. 
But  his  words  carried  no  conviction  to  Stokes,  and  though 
Nancy  tried  to  hug  them  to  her  heart,  they  were  somehow 
cold  comfort. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  members  of  the  Burgess  party  were  literally 
prompt  to  a  fault.  There  had  been  no  occasion  since 
their  landing  at  Liverpool  when  one  of  them  had  kept 
the  others  waiting  for  so  long  as  three  minutes.  Even 
Mary  Little,  who  was  a  rattling,  inconsequential  sort  of 
person,  and  always  had  final  messages  for  the  servants 
and  functionaries  of  the  hotels  and  pensions  where  they 
stopped,  as  well  as  the  vergers  and  guides  in  public  places, 
usually  rushed  in  among  the  assembled  company,  breath- 
less and  flushed  and  full  of  laughing  excuses  about  John 
or  Betty  or  Hans,  just  as  the  hands  of  the  clock  told  the 
appointed  hour.  Indeed,  the  difficulty  was  that  the  ma- 
jority erred  on  the  side  of  over-promptness ;  so  that  five 
or  six  out  of  the  nine  were  always  ready  and  waiting  for 
any  expedition  ten  minutes  beforehand,  thus  burdening 
the  merely  prompt  with  a  factitious  sense  of  remissness. 

On  this  particular  day,  a  fair  cool  afternoon  of  early 
July,  they  were  to  set  out  shortly  after  lunch  to  visit  what 
was  for  some  of  them  the  chief  attraction  of  The  Hague : 
the  palace  dedicated  to  international  peace.  At  a  quarter 
before  two.  Dr.  Burgess,  their  leader,  and  his  wife  were 
seated  in  wicker  chairs  outside  the  door  of  the  rambling, 
comfortable  old  Dutch  hotel  near  the  V)rver,  whose  floor 
was  raised  above  the  ground  only  by  the  inconsiderable 
height  of  the  threshold,  gazing  contentedly  out  into  the 
quiet,  shaded  square.  Miss  Cameron  and  Miss  Griffiths, 
school   teachers    from    Detroit,   the    former   tall,   plain, 

45 


46  FIREWEED 

middle-iaged  and  capable  looking ;  the  latter  small,  young, 
graceful,  and  pretty  in  a  slightly  prim  fashion,  sat  just 
within,  conning  their  Baedeker;  while  Miss  Little  stood 
talking  with  the  old  Dutch  portier  who  had  been  forty 
years  at  the  inn  and  was  the  factotum  and  general  man- 
ager. 

Mary  Little,  just  under  thirty,  of  independent  means, 
laughed  constantly  as  she  chatted.  Her  personal  appear- 
ance answered  singularly  to  her  manner  —  everything 
about  her  was  attractive  but  slightly  over-emphasized. 
As  one  looked  at  her,  the  high  color  in  her  cheeks  sug- 
gested excitement;  it  rarely  faded  or  lessened;  but  after 
all,  she  commonly  appeared  to  be  excited.  Gushing  in 
manner  and  unconsciously  patronizing  as  she  was,  as  a 
member  of  the  party,  she  wore  very  well. 

She  towered  far  above  the  little  porter  with  whom  she 
was  discussing  the  history  of  the  cross  lame  dog  which 
always  lay  on  a  particular  mat  in  a  most  inconvenient 
place  near  the  central  front  door.  The  Dutchman  stood 
just  four  feet  from  the  ground.  But  though  short,  he  was 
stout,  inordinately  stout,  so  that  his  circumference  below 
where  his  waist  would  naturally  have  been,  had  he  pos- 
sessed a  waist,  must  have  equaled  his  height.  His  small 
round  head  was  like  a  bullet,  his  round  face  very  red,  not 
to  say  purple,  with  short,  stiff  white  hair  standing  straight 
up  from  his  forehead.  He  spoke  English  in  an  explosive, 
guttural  manner,  his  words  coming  seemingly  from  the 
depths  of  his  capacious  paunch,  and  with  such  apparent 
difficulty  that  it  often  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  seized 
with  a  fit  when  he  was  merely  struggling  for  utterance. 

Hannah  Melendy,  after  Nancy  Cotton  the  youngest  of 
the  Burgess  party,  a  girl  of  one-and-twenty  just  out  of 
college  and  about  to  enter  medical  school  in  the  autumn, 
strolled  through  the  corridor  on  her  way  upstairs.  She 
was  dressed  in  boyish  rather  than  masculine  fashion,  and 


FIREWEED  47 

looked  like  a  charming  boy.  Her  cheerful  grin  as  she 
noted  Miss  Little's  characteristic  preoccupation,  disclosed 
a  pair  of  boyish  dimples. 

Pausing,  she  made  the  usual  inquiry  to  the  porter  as 
to  foreign  mail. 

"  Lebdarrs  ubstairs,"  he  growled  —  or  exploded,  and 
the  girl  turned  quickly.  But  Miss  Little  laid  a  restrain- 
ing hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Where's  your  hat,  sonny  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Ubstairs/'  said  the  girl  gravely.  "  I'm  not  going. 
I'm  taking  an  afternoon  off,  Little  Mary."  And  Miss 
Melendy  hitched  herself  from  beneath  the  long-fingered 
grasp. 

"  Oh,  but  infant,  everybody's  going !  "  cried  Miss  Little. 
"  Even  Mrs.  Burgess  is  going.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?"    And  she  laughed. 

Miss  Melendy  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  It  will 
simply  mean  that  the  winter  supply  of  the  Burgess  house- 
hold will  be  shy  one  doily,"  she  answered.  "  But  what 
struck  her.  Little  dear  ?  " 

Miss  Little  raised  her  high  brows  conspicuously  and 
lowered  them  to  indicate  that  the  lady  was  just  outside. 
Then  she  laughed  again. 

"  Listen,  kid.  Mrs.  Burgess  told  Maude  Griffiths  that 
she  felt  constrained  to  go,  having  once  been  vice  presi- 
dent of  the  W.C.T.U.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so 
screamingly  funny  ?  " 

Miss  Melendy  grinned.  "  Never,"  she  asseverated. 
"  At  least,  hardly  ever,  Little  Mary,  once  or  twice,  per- 
haps." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  come  here,  please !  "  cried  Miss  Little 
to  the  lawyer,  who  was  coming  through  from  the  office, 
bending  his  head,  unnecessarily,  in  this  instance,  as  he 
passed  under  the  door. 

"  What  do  you  think ! "  she  exclaimed  as  he  joined 


48  FIREWEED 

them,  "  our  little  Hank  isn't  going  with  us  this  afternoon. 
She's  craw-fished  out  of  it." 

Cotton  eyed  Miss  Melendy  with  some  surprise.  Like 
himself,  the  girl  appeared  to  be  tireless  and  insatiable  in 
the  matter  of  sight-seeing.  Under  his  scrutiny,  she 
flushed  ever  so  slightly. 

"  I  reckon  I'm  sick  of  hearing  Aristides  called  the 
Just,"  she  explained.  "  Somehow,  I  don't  give  a  hang 
for  a  nearer  view  of  that  smug,  bulbous  old  peace  palace." 

"  /  say,"  cried  Miss  Little  with  the  Indiana  emphasis 
on  the  pronoun,  "isn't  she  awful,  Mr.  Cotton?  Aren't 
such  sentiments  heretical  ?  " 

Cotton  smiled. 

"  Well,  now,  I  understand  somewhat  how  Miss  Me- 
lendy feels,"  he  said  quietly,  turning  to  the  girl.  "  The 
idea  is  sound,  but  there  truly  is  something  rather  repug- 
nant to  one's  sense  of  fitness  in  having  it  thus  set  off  by 
itself,  separated  from  other  elements  of  national  and 
international  life,  and  covered  over  with  this  huge  monu- 
ment. Any  abstraction  taken  by  itself,  made  an  object 
of  semi-intellectual  worship,  and  so  more  or  less  a  fad, 
must  wither  and  become  in  a  way  dry  and  juiceless. 
Oftentimes  it  happens  —  well,  now,  do  you  know,  I 
shouldn't  myself  greatly  wonder  if  some  day  when  they 
came  to  roll  the  stone  away  they  would  find  the  tomb 
empty,  —  and  in  this  case,  no  angel  by  its  side." 

At  that  instant,  Mrs.  Miles  burst  suddenly  upon  them, 
stout  and  red-faced  and  looking  as  if  her  clothing  was 
too  tight  and  very  uncomfortable.  She  was  from  Buell, 
Indiana,  the  Cottons'  former  home,  and  asked  anxiously 
if  Nancy  were  not  going.  As  Miss  Melendy  settled  a 
bulging  bit  of  Mrs.  Miles's  lawn  blouse,  Cotton  explained 
that  Nancy  hardly  felt  up  to  it.  And  while  she  was 
lamenting  the  fact,  the  two  remaining  members  of  the 
party  appeared. 


FIREWEED  49 

These  were  Miss  Williams  and  Miss  Addie  Budd.  The 
latter,  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Miles's  from  Vermont,  was  a  very 
stout,  very  blonde,  very  placid  lady  in  the  late  thirties. 
Miss  Williams,  who  usually  paired  with  her,  resembling 
her  in  nothing  but  her  uniform  admiration  of  everything 
they  came  across,  was  the  oldest  of  the  party,  small,  thin, 
nervous  and  short-sighted,  not  unlike  a  bony  little  bird 
in  appearance,  for  she  was  always  hopping  about  and 
chirping,  dipping  her  head  this  way  and  that  because  of 
her  short  range  of  vision. 

Now  the  party  was  of?,  only  Caleb  Cotton  lagging 
behind  a  few  moments  to  jot  down  in  a  little  red  book 
he  always  carried  in  his  breast  pocket  the  words  on  a 
cart  just  passing  through  the  square.  "  Houthandel 
Zagerij  Schaverij,"  —  it  was  mere  gibberish  to  him,  but 
entertaining,  and  destined  to  serve  as  an  illustration  in 
court  at  a  later  day.  The  cross,  fat  dog  closed  both 
eyes  —  he  usually  lay  with  one  open  —  the  porter  seated 
himself,  folded  his  short-fingered  hands  over  the  narrow- 
est girth  of  his  stomach  and  prepared  to  doze.  Miss 
Melendy  ascended  the  stair.  Nancy  Cotton,  alone  in  her 
comer  room  overlooking  the  Vyver  and  the  square, 
watched  the  party  until  the  last  straggler  had  disappeared. 
Then  she  drew  forth  her  writing  materials. 

For  more  than  ar  hour  the  girl  wrote  feverishly,  filling 
page  after  page  with  her  small,  pretty  script.  As  she 
wrote,  she  was  another  person,  more  vivid,  more  alive; 
there  was  a  spirit  about  her  that  made  her  seem  more 
a  personage,  more  worthy  of  being  her  father's  daughter. 

More  than  once,  she  had  to  dash  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  and  twice  she  stopped  and  bowed  her  head  upon 
the  table  before  her.  But  she  held  to  it  until  she  had 
apparently  satisfied  herself  so  far  as  possible.  Signing 
herself  "  Always  and  for  ever  your  loving  Nancy,"  after 
she  had  sealed  it  and  addressed  it  with  minute,  loving 


50  FIREWEED 

care,  she  tore  it  into  tiny  fragments  and  consigned  them 
to  the  waste  basket. 

Unless  she  was  ill,  never  a  day  passed  when  Nancy 
did  not  thus  pour  out  her  heart  in  a  letter  to  Philip 
Stokes  which  she  invariably  destroyed  as  soon  as  it  was 
finished.  Writing  was  not  so  much  solace  as  relief ;  nor 
was  it  great  relief  at  that.  It  was  only  that  without  some 
such  slight  easing  of  her  burden,  she  could  never  have 
borne  it  from  day  to  day. 

She  had  scarcely  dried  her  eyes  when  Miss  Melendy's 
familiar  drum-tap  sounded  on  the  door.  The  blinds  were 
lowered  and  the  room  dim,  but  Miss  Melendy  perceived 
at  once  that  Nancy  had  been  crying  and  had  to  steel  her 
heart  to  enable  her  to  carry  through  the  purpose  that  had 
made  her  seek  Nancy  in  the  absence  of  the  others. 

Too  frank  by  nature  to  lead  up  to  her  point  dexterously, 
the  girl  explained  rather  lamely  that  she  had  just  finished 
her  daily  installment  to  her  father, 

"  It's  some  grind,  believe  me !  "  she  declared,  "  but  I 
dassn't  stop  lest  dad  stop  supplies." 

She  glanced  at  the  portfolio  on  the  table. 

"  You  have  been  improving  the  time  also,"  she  re- 
marked.    "  Got  lots  of  correspondents,  honey  ?  " 

Nancy  took  no  exception  to  the  question;  for  already 
there  was  real  warmth  of  affection  between  the  two  girls. 
But  she  paled  sensitively. 

"  No,  Hank,  no  one,  really,  except  Cousin  Abby.  She 
is  Miss  Abby  Manning,  who  came  on  from  back  home 
with  us  and  keeps  house  for  pappy  and  me.  We  wanted 
her  to  come  with  us  this  summer,  but  she  was  afraid  to 
cross  the  ocean.  I  write  her  once  a  week  and  pappy 
writes  once." 

As  her  eyes,  too,  fell  upon  the  writing  case,  which  was 
in  daily  use,  Nancy  paled  yet  further  with  a  deep  sense 
of  guilt. 


FIREWEED  SI 

Miss  Melendy  thrust  her  hands  into  her  skirt  pockets. 

"  Well,  in  a  way,  you're  rather  in  luck  not  to  have  any 
more  than  that  on  your  mind,"  she  declared.  It  struck 
her  that  Nancy  must  be  deadly  pale  to  have  it  so  apparent 
in  the  dimness  of  the  room.  None  the  less,  she  forced 
herself  to  go  on  relentlessly :  "  No  girl  friend  pestering 
you ;  no  man  getting  huffy  if  you  don't  —  " 

"  No,  Hank,"  said  Nancy,  speaking  more  quickly  than 
was  her  wont,  "  I'm  not  much  acquainted  yet  in  our 
new  home,  except  with  older  people  apd  pappy's  friends. 
And  —  " 

"  Of  course  not,  honey,"  returned  Miss  Melendy 
warmly,  "  and  of  course  —  " 

Pausing,  she  raised  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
may. "  For  the  love  of  Mike,  is  that  bunch  back 
already !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  pushing  up  the  blind  nearest, 
peered  out  into  the  square.  "  Sure,  here  they  come.  You 
can't  mistake  Little  Mary's  laugh,  can  you?  She's  cate- 
chising poor  old  Jan  to  beat  the  band,  and  he  hasn't  once 
opened  his  little  round  peepers  since  she  left.  Well,  that 
means  I  must  toddle  on.  I  promised  Mrs.  Miles  to  take 
her  to  a  shop  I  discovered  yesterday  in  the  Korte  Poten 
to  get  some  Dutch  buttons.  So  long,  honey.  See  you  at 
dinner." 

Hannah  Melendy  went  whistling  to  her  room  to  get 
her  Panama  hat  and  chamois  gloves.  But  for  all  that 
her  heart  wasn't  light.  Something  of  the  heaviness  of 
Nancy's  had  settled  upon  it. 

It  had  happened  that  Miss  Melendy  was  the  one  person 
of  the  little  group  who  were  associated  so  familiarly  and 
even  intimately  who  guessed  the  real  nature  of  Nancy 
Cotton's  malady.  No  one  else,  not  even  Nancy's  father, 
dreamed  that  the  root  of  the  trouble  was  other  than 
physical.  Cotton  acknowledged  that  Nancy  was  run 
down,  but  seemed  to  see  that  she  was  picking  up.    That, 


52  FIREWEED 

however,  was  apparent  to  no  one  else.  The  others  could 
but  see  that  the  girl  tired  more  easily  as  the  days  passed, 
drooping  and  growing  yet  paler,  and  that  she  went  about 
with  them  less  and  less,  even  when  they  drove  all  the 
way.  Nevertheless  they  attributed  it  to  a  frail  consti- 
tution. 

In  the  face  of  this  mature  opinion,  Miss  Melendy  hesi- 
tated to  credit  her  own  intuitive  judgment.  But  the  more 
she  pondered  the  i  atter,  the  more  she  was  with  Nancy, 
the  less  could  she  combat  the  conviction  that  had  seized 
her  very  shortly  after  the  party  had  reached  Liverpool. 
It  had  been  borne  in  upon  her  that  Nancy  Cotton,  child 
as  she  was  otherwise,  was  in  love,  unhappily  and  perhaps 
tragically. 

From  the  very  first,  Hannah  Melendy's  heart  had  gone 
out  to  the  younger  girl,  something  of  boyish  chivalry  in 
her  being  touched  by  the  vision  of  innocent  maidenhood 
Nancy  presented.  From  the  very  first,  too,  she  had  been 
troubled  about  her,  resenting  openly,  yet  remembering 
secretly,  Mrs.  Miles's  hint  of  the  shadow  of  early  death 
upon  her  brow.  And  when  she  had  finally  acknowledged 
the  probability  —  nay,  the  inevitability,  of  her  own  diag- 
nosis, there  was  no  limit  to  her  tenderness  and  pity.  Her 
heart  yearned  towards  Nancy,  and  the  longing  to  help 
her  and  perhaps  even  to  heal,  became  paramount  with 
her.  With  no  experience  of  hopeless  passion,  it  was 
almost  as  if  she  knew  by  prescience  of  its  fatally  con- 
suming power. 

But  what  was  it  that  Nancy  wanted  —  or  who,  rather  ? 
That  was  the  rub.  Before  they  left  England,  Miss  Me- 
lendy had  been  satisfied  that  no  one  on  this  side  of  the 
water,  except  Nancy  herself,  knew  aught  of  any  lover  or 
of  any  love  story  connected  with  the  girl.  Mrs.  Miles 
spoke  of  her  as  leaving  Buell  two  years  earlier,  not, 
indeed,  robust,  but  a  rosy,  blooming  girl  of  fifteen ;  while 


FIREWEED  S3 

her  father  couldn't  have  been  less  suspicious  of  any  such 
thing  if  Nancy  hadn't  yet  entered  her  teens.  The  neces- 
sity of  seeking  a.  pou  sto  from  Nancy  herself  had  im- 
pressed itself  upon  Miss  Melendy  some  time  since.  Only 
she  had  recently  determined  to  seek  it  more  actively,  even 
though  she  had  to  be  ruthless ;  —  to  use  the  scalpel  if 
there  were  no  other  means  towards  her  recovery. 

She  hadn't  used  it  to  any  purpose  to-day,  however,  she 
said  to  herself  late  that  afternoon  as  she  returned  to  the 
inn  and  stood  a  few  moments  gazing  wistfully  out  upon 
the  carpet  of  withered  yellow  leaves  in  the  square.  As 
she  entered,  her  attention  was  attracted  to  Nancy's  win- 
dows by  the  sudden  raising  of  the  green  blinds  to  their 
full  height.  She  almost  saw  Cotton's  long  arras;  and 
then  she  wondered  whether  in  the  strong  light  he  would 
notice  traces  of  his  daughter's  sorrow. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Caleb  Cotton  noticed  nothing  as 
he  sat  down  with  Nancy  to  read  his  letters.  Opening  and 
glancing  over  them,  he  commented  upon  each.  One  was 
from  Philip  Stokes,  who  wrote  from  a  fashionable  water- 
ing place  where  he  passed  week-ends  with  his  sister, 
apparently  more  bored  than  ever.  A  flippant,  gossipy 
letter,  with  a  few  words  on  books  and  a  few  more  on 
politics,  it  partook  of  the  careless  personal  charm  of  the 
writer.  In  a  postscript,  the  young  man  mentioned  that 
Alexander  Manners's  widow,  who  was  in  undisputed  pos- 
session of  the  bulk  of  his  property,  was  in  the  South  of 
England  for  the  summer  with  her  shadow,  the  companion- 
nurse. 

Having  perused  this  letter  rather  more  carefully  than 
the  others,  which  he  read  again  in  his  own  room.  Cotton 
handed  it  to  his  daughter. 

"  From  Phil ;  not  much  in  it,  but  so  like  him  you  hear 
his  very  voice,"  he  remarked. 

Nancy,  marble  white,  took  it  in  her  trembling  hand,  but 


54  FIREWEED 

would  not  trust  herself  to  read  it  until  she  was  alone. 
When  she  could  control  her  voice  she  asked  in  low  tones 
whether  he  wished  to  have  it  back. 

"  No,  honey,  I  reckon  I've  got  the  gist  of  it,"  he  said, 
and  her  sad  heart  leaped.  Then  he  pursed  his  lips  in 
his  droll  way  and  remarked :  "  Well,  I  don't  know  but 
what  you'd  better  keep  it.     I  might  look  at  it  again." 

Nancy  read  and  re-read  the  letter  until  she  knew  it 
by  heart.  Again  and  again  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  to 
her  cheek,  to  her  heart.  She  slept  with  it  under  her 
pillow,  drawing  it  forth  continually  in  her  long  hours 
of  waking.  She  traced  the  word  "  Dear "  from  the 
beginning  and  her  own  name  from  the  close  where  he 
had  politely  sent  his  regards  to  Miss  Nancy  and  agonized 
over  the  painful  bliss  the  sight  of  it  gave  her.  Then  her 
conscience  forced  her  to  tear  it  into  bits. 

She  handed  it  silently  to  her  father  when  he  brought 
in  Miss  Abby's  letter  next  morning.  He  glanced 
through  it  again  and  made  a  taper  of  it  with  which  to 
light  his  pipe. 


CHAPTER   VI 

He  stood,  a  quaint  figure,  in  very  truth,  before  the 
little  alcove  in  the  Musee  Carnavalet  where  Marie-Antoi- 
nette's poor  bed  with  its  cretonne  coverings,  her  bare 
dressing  table  whose  few  empty,  heavy  glass  scent  bottles 
seemed  still  to  flout  her  lost  beauty,  and  other  odd  be- 
longings, including  the  little  writing-desk  of  the  Princess 
Royal,  reproduce  the  room  in  the  Temple  where  the  last 
tragic  months  in  the  life  of  the  unhappy  queen  were  wept 
away.  He  was  tall,  very  tall,  and  exceedingly  lank.  His 
hair,  iron  grey  and  curling  slightly  from  the  heat  of  the 
day,  stood  somewhat  awry,  disarranged  by  the  Panama 
hat  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  His  long  arms  were  folded 
over  his  breast  with  sharply  protruding  elbows.  His 
face,  lantern-jawed,  with  overhanging  brow,  small,  deep- 
set  eyes,  large  features  and  hollow  cheeks,  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  wonder,  of  incredulity,  such  as  to  make  him 
present,  together  with  his  awkward,  angular  person,  a 
fatally  easy  subject  for  caricature.  Only  —  somehow,  at 
the  moment  one  would  not  have  dared. 

No  one  could  have  looked  twice  into  those  deep-set, 
honest  eyes,  blue  as  a  child's,  without  reading  the  deep 
and  chivalrous  feeling  that  converted  the  look  upon  his 
face  from  blank  wonder  into  intense  deprecation,  noble 
protest.  And  indeed,  the  man  could  not  conceive  the 
fact  that  this  scene  commemorated,  which  had  become 
so  intensely  real  that  it  was  to  him  an  affair  of  yesterday. 
Now  his  warm  heart  cried  out  against  it  even  more 
warmly  than  it  had  done  in  early  youth  when  he  had 

55 


S6  FIREWEED 

first  read  the  story.  He  could  not  accept,  could  not 
reconcile  himself  to  the  fate  of  this  woman  whose  last 
wild  prayer  had  gone  out  more  than  a  hundred  years 
before. 

He  had  come  hither  after  a  slow  progress  through  the 
adjoining  hall,  after  long,  deliberate  study  of  the  por- 
traits of  Marie-Antoinette  as  Princess  and  as  Queen  in 
the  flush  of  her  youth  and  royalty.  In  them,  in  one  and 
all,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  had  been  disappointed,  bit- 
terly disappointed.  With  all  his  keenness,  and  all  his 
charity  —  and  he  had  abundance  —  he  had  been  able  to 
find  little  but  selfishness  in  that  blooming  face,  and  that 
not  particularly  refined  selfishness.  He  acknowledged 
that  he  should  not  have  expected  to  find  more.  He  had 
not  long  since  read  a  book  that  went  deeply  into  the  early 
years  of  the  life  of  the  Austrian  Princess,  pondering 
much  upon  it,  as  was  his  wont,  and  had  not  found  therein 
warrant  for  what  was  probably,  when  all  was  said,  the 
mere  yearning  of  a  hero  worshiper. 

But  all  that  only  went  to  make  this  scene  the  more 
moving.  Now,  as  he  reached  the  last  station  in  the 
Queen's  career,  as  he  saw  above  the  poor  bed  the  colored 
print  of  "  La  Veuve  Capet,"  he  realized  the  more  keenly 
the  cruelty  of  suffering  that  could  have  wrought  this 
tragically  sad,  pitifully  refined  grey-haired  woman  from 
that  glowing,  rosy,  careless  girl.  He  shook  his  head 
sadly,  deprecatingly.  More  than  ever  he  wondered  that 
the  heart  of  mankind  could  have  tolerated  it. 

For  many  moments  he  stood  motionless,  quite  absorbed, 
utterly  lost  to  all  about  him,  unaware  of  any  other  person 
in  the  quiet  gallery.  Finally  he  turned  slowly  from  the 
placard  whose  large  black  letters  summoned  whoever 
would  to  attend  the  funeral  obsequies  of  the  most  unhappy 
of  queens,  and  turning,  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
a  woman  —  a  young  girl  she  seemed  to  him  —  clad  in 


FIREWEED  57 

white,  whose  pretty,  shallow  brown  eyes  had  grown  wist- 
ful as  she  had  witnessed  his  absorption. 

Called  suddenly  from  another  world,  for  an  instant, 
Caleb  Cotton  stood  inside  the  threshold.  The  chance 
meeting  was  a  curious  shock  to  the  man.  It  was  more 
than  a  shock ;  that  is,  it  was  a  double,  a  twofold  shock. 
For  at  first  he  did  not  realize  the  actual.  Still  in  the 
past,  he  stared  at  the  girl  incredulous.  For  a  fraction  of 
a  second,  he  believed  himself  to  be  looking  upon  the 
living  face  of  the  young  Queen  the  call  to  whose  obse- 
quies he  had  only  now  heard.  Whether  there  were,  in- 
deed, any  vague  resemblance,  other  than  in  the  color  of 
the  hair,  between  this  delicate,  slender,  quite  modern 
looking  girl  and  the  rosy,  buxom  Austrian  Princess,  or 
whether  it  were  some  subtlety  of  color  or  expression 
visible  to  his  clear  sight,  it  would  be  impossible  to  deter- 
mine. Most  likely,  it  was  simply  a  refraction  of  his 
imagination  which,  at  that  moment,  would  have  trans- 
formed any  young  woman  confronting  him  thus  unex- 
pectedly into  the  likeness  of  the  subject  of  his  preoccu- 
pation. 

In  any  event,  the  sensation  endured  only  for  a  moment. 
There  followed  the  recognition  that  the  newcomer  was 
someone  whom  he  had  seen  before.  And  the  complemen- 
tary shock  fell  with  full  recognition. 

Beneath  all  this  —  really  a  matter  of  seconds  rather 
than  of  minutes  —  Erica  Manners  had  grown  deadly  pale. 
As  Caleb  Cotton  stared  at  her  without  acknowledging 
her  presence  by  any  slightest  gesture,  she  believed  he  was 
trying  to  express  —  or  possibly  to  hide  —  the  depths  of 
his  contempt  for  her,  his  loathing  and  hatred.  But  before 
she  could  turn.  Cotton,  recalled  perchance  to  the  actual 
by  her  change  of  color,  though  not  yet  beyond  the  fact 
that  she  was  someone  he  had  seen  before,  reached  out 
his  big  hand  and  was  saying  in  the  old  Western  way 


S8  FIREWEED 

these  Indiana  friends  had  recalled,  "  Why,  how  do  you 
do,  ma'am ! " 

With  a  singular  revulsion  of  feeling.  Erica  Manners 
put  her  little  white-gloved  hand  into  his.  For  the  mo- 
ment, the  sudden,  immense  relief  was  akin  to  joy.  Her 
veins  thrilled  with  excitement  at  the  strong  grasp  of  his 
hand. 

But  she  forgot  herself  only  for  a  moment.  Remem- 
brance returned.  She  withdrew  her  hand  and  replied 
coldly :  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cotton,  I  am  quite  well." 

As  he  had  realized  her  identity,  Cotton  started  to  say 
that  he  had  mistaken  her  for  someone  else.  But  the 
sudden  weariness  that  enveloped  him  made  him  long  only 
to  get  away,  and  murmuring  some  formal  word  of  cour- 
tesy, he  turned  quickly. 

Why  she  should  have  stopped  him,  Erica  Manners 
would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  explain.  But  she  seemed 
impelled  to  detain  him. 

"  O  Mr.  Cotton,  please  don't  let  me  drive  you  away," 
she  said  with  the  haughty  insolence  characteristic  of  her. 
"  I'm  just  leaving  myself,  —  going  back  to  my  hotel." 

Still  she  made  no  move.  Again,  she  seemed  to  be  held. 
For,  on  a  sudden,  she  wanted  desperately  to  talk  with 
this  man,  this  man  who  had  reviled  her,  who  had  held 
her  up  to  public  contumely,  who  had  called  her  "  this 
woman."  And  she  might  never  see  him  again,  never 
have  another  opportunity  to  speak  to  him. 

Opportunity  for  what?  She  did  not  know.  Erica 
Manners  did  not  understand  her  impulse  nor  know  what 
she  wanted.  Of  course  she  would  have  liked  him  to 
retract  what  he  had  said,  but  that  wasn't  within  the 
limits  of  possibility.  However,  it  wasn't  impossible  that 
he  should  alter  his  opinion  of  her  —  to  a  certain  extent. 
Goodness  knows  she  didn't  want  him  to  like  her,  but  she 
felt  sure  that  she  could,  with  a  chance,  compel  his  respect. 


FIREWEED  59 

She  could  hardly  expect  to  accomplish  it  off-hand,  as  it 
were,  at  this  chance  meeting.  Still,  she  couldn't  let  him 
go  without  some  effort  —  an  entering  wedge. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  disturbed  your  meditation,"  she  re- 
marked politely.  "  You  are  —  you  seem  to  be  particu- 
larly interested  in  Marie-Antoinette  ?  " 

Replying,  Cotton's  voice  and  manner  were  so  wholly 
impersonal  that  Erica  Manners  could  scarcely  credit  her 
hearing.  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  didn't  actually  rec- 
ognize her?  He  had  acted  so  at  first,  indeed,  and  he 
hadn't  called  her  by  name.  He  spoke  now  as  to  a  mere 
acquaintance,  not  as  to  an  enemy  and  certainly  not  as  to  a 
friend. 

"  I  am.  I  always  have  been.  I  wish  they  hadn't  killed 
her,"  he  said  simply,  his  deep  voice  vibrant  with  regret. 
"  She  was  young  and  thoughtless  and  hadn't  had  any  sort 
of  up-bringing.  After  all,  she  did  the  best  she  knew,  and 
in  the  end,  I  reckon  she  was  very  much  a  woman  as  well 
as  a  queen." 

He  looked  absently  at  the  scent-bottles. 

"  *  I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  would  have  leaped 
from  their  scabbards,'  "  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself, 
and  unconsciously  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

Erica  Manners  stared  at  him.  Herself  overwhelmed 
by  memories  of  the  court-room,  she  marveled  to  see  him 
so  transported  by  the  historic  relic  as  to  be  oblivious  of  all 
else.  He  wasn't  speaking  to  her :  he  was  talking  to 
Any  one,  —  merely  thinking  aloud.  The  relief  from  the 
first  shock  of  his  staring  was  so  great  that  Erica  might 
have  been  expected  to  be  content  that  he  didn't  recall 
her  past,  —  that  bit  of  past  that  was  common  to  them ;  but 
it  was  characteristic  of  her  egotism  that  she  resented  his 
forgetting  her,  even  forgetting  his  hatred  of  her  in  his 
contemplation  of  a  woman  who  had  been  dead  for  over 
a  century. 


6o  FIREWEED 

"  How  old  was  she  when  she  died  ?  "  she  asked,  merely 
to  gain  time. 

"  She  was  thirty-seven,  ma'am,  in  her  thirty-eighth 
year,"  he  replied  in  his  precise  way. 

"  Old  enough  to  know  better ! "  she  remarked  flip- 
pantly. 

"  She  did  know  better,  ma'am,"  he  asserted  almost 
sternly.     "  Pray  come  here  and  look  at  this." 

As  he  led  her  into  the  next  gallery  and  pointed  out  a 
miniature  in  the  glass  case  in  the  center  for  her  inspection, 
he  might  have  been  a  stem  school-master.  Erica  on  her 
part  fixed  her  eyes  on  it  in  docile  fashion  and  endeavored 
to  see  what  he  expected  her  to  see  therein,  though  inevi- 
tably she  saw  considerably  less.  She  saw  only  a  Teutonic 
face,  long,  with  round,  high-colored  cheeks,  an  aquiline 
nose,  and  hair  very  much  the  color  of  her  own. 

After  a  minute  (which  was  longer  than  she  required  for 
her  quick,  shallow  appraisal)  he  conducted  her  in  silence 
back  to  the  crude  portrait  sketch  above  the  poor  bed,  — 
thin,  hollow-eyed,  widowed,  sad,  infinitely  touching. 
Whether  it  were  the  sharp  contrast,  the  pathos  in  the 
picture  itself,  or  that  she  could  not  help  being  moved  by 
the  depths  of  his  feeling,  Erica  Manners  was  amazed  to 
find  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  You  see  ?  "  he  asked  almost  eagerly.  "  Here,  in  this 
portrait,  she  has  learned  not  only  what  her  mother  ought 
to  have  taught  her,  but  likewise  the  lessons  that  only  life 
can  teach.  You  can  see  that,  ma'am?"  And  he  added 
sadly :  "  I  wish  they  hadn't  put  her  to  death.  I  can't 
seem  to  bear  the  idea  —  now  less  than  ever  —  of  her 
riding  in  that  cart." 

What  curiously  warm  imaginative  sympathy  the  man 
had!  Unable  to  get  away  from  herself,  Mrs.  Manners 
was  seized  with  sudden  self-pity.  Ah!  if  only  Cotton 
had  been  her  lawyer !    At  this  moment  it  seemed  to  her 


FIREWEED  6i 

sore  heart  as  if  to  have  him  sorry  for  her  would  mean  — 
oh,  the  world  itself ! 

On  a  sudden  the  room  became  dark.  But  it  was  not, 
as  Erica  at  first  thought,  because  she  saw  through  a  blur 
of  tears.  For  in  another  instant  the  drops  of  a  smart 
shower  were  drenching  the  courtyard  below  the  windows. 

She  glanced  dubiously,  though  half  absently,  at  her 
fresh  white  linen  suit,  white  shoes  and  filmy  sunshade. 
She  wished  Cotton  might  propose  that  they  should  sit 
down  to  wait  until  the  shower  passed,  and  that  failing, 
longed  to  speak  of  it  herself.  But  he  quietly  proposed 
to  call  a  cab  for  her,  and  they  descended  the  stairs  in 
silence.  He  was  such  a  mixture  of  inconsistencies,  — 
bewailing  the  fate  of  the  long  dead,  moralizing  to  her  like 
the  gentleman  in  the  silk  hat  and  frock  coat  of  the  old- 
fashioned  children's  books,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
quite  at  his  ease  in  a  strange  foreign  city,  fetching  a  cab 
as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course. 

There  was  none  within  hailing  distance  of  the  covered 
court,  and  he  stepped  out  into  the  shower.  During  his 
absence,  Erica  decided,  in  her  spoilt  child  fashion,  that 
she  wouldn't  lose  sight  of  him :  she  would  not  let  him  go 
until  she  had  spoken  personally  with  him.  She  hardly 
understood  his  "  ma'aming  "  her :  yet  he  had  seemed  per- 
fectly ready  to  talk  with  her  on  impersonal  matters.  He 
had  no  umbrella,  and  cabs  were  evidently  scarce  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Musee ;  she  would  insist  upon  taking 
him  to  his  hotel.  On  the  way  thither,  she  would  in  some 
manner  and  to  a  certain  extent  justify  herself  before 
him.  She  would  impress  it  upon  him  that  she  was  a 
person  to  be  respected.  That  was  sufficient  for  her. 
After  that,  she  hoped  never  to  see  him  again. 

He  returned  with  wet  shoulders  and  a  wet  Panama 
hat  in  his  hand.  The  cab  followed  and  he  handed  her 
in.     And  though  he  repeated  her  direction  to  the  cocher 


62  FIREWEED 

with  surprising  glibness,  Caleb  Cotton  had  no  time  to 
analyze  his  unusual  facility,  for  Mrs.  Manners  had  moved 
to  the  farther  side  of  the  seat  and  was  waiting  for  him 
to  get  in  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,"  he  said  politely,  "  but 
I  always  walk  when  I  am  alone.  I  like  to  take  in  things 
as  I  go  along." 

"  But  it's  simply  pouring,  Mr.  Cotton.  You  won't  be 
able  to  take  in  anything  but  wetness,"  she  protested. 

"  I  wasn't  planning  to  go  just  yet,"  he  owned  in  that 
winning  voice  that  would  have  made  his  worst  enemy 
forget  his  ugliness.  "  I  rather  want  to  go  upstairs  again 
for  a  little." 

Still  she  detained  him.  She  wouldn't  be  baffled.  She 
would  not  let  this  man  go  out  of  her  life  forever  thinking 
so  ill  of  her.  She  began  to  feel  assured  that  if  she  could 
speak  with  him  at  her  ease,  she  could  get  him  to  under- 
stand her  side.  It  didn't  seem  wholly  unlikely  that  he 
might  come  even  to  pity  her. 

"  Where  are  you  staying,  Mr.  Cotton  ? "  she  asked 
politely.  Cotton,  longing  to  get  back  to  Marshal  Ney, 
absently  named  the  hotel. 

Mrs.  Manners  flushed.  For  it  was  the  same  whose 
street  and  number  he  had  just  repeated  to  the  coachman 
for  her.  She  signaled  the  man  to  go  on,  and  bowing 
frigidly  went  from  his  presence. 

Well  back  under  the  hood  of  the  carriage,  Mrs.  Man- 
ners drove  through  the  rue  de  Sevigne,  seeing  nothing 
of  the  quaintness  all  about,  into  the  rue  de  Rivoli,  where 
the  throng  of  carriages,  taxicabs  and  omnibuses  made 
progress  very  slow.  Her  cheeks  burned  hotly.  The 
repulse  had  been  rude,  indeed.  She  had  shown  —  she 
must  have  seemed  to  show  —  that  she  didn't  want  this  to 
have  been  merely  a  casual  meeting  and  nothing  more. 
And  he  had  tried  to  avoid  ever  seeing  her  again!    He 


FIREWEED  63 

had  told  her  only  under  compulsion  that  they  were  both 
staying  at  the  same  hotel !  Since  he  hadn't  had  the  grace 
to  explain  when  she  had  given  him  her  address,  he  might 
have  been  decent  enough  to  keep  it  to  himself ! 

Suddenly  the  blood  mounted  not  only  the  more  warmly 
to  her  burning  cheeks  but  to  her  brow  as  well.  He  must 
have  guessed  that  she  wished  to  speak  further  with  him. 
Suppose  he  had  thought  she  wanted  —  oh,  not  to  justify 
herself,  but  to  confess  —  that  he  had  been  right  and  she 
wrong!  Ah!  it  would  be  just  like  him  with  his  moraliz- 
ing nature  to  get  that  maddening  notion  into  his  head. 
That  was  why  he  had  led  her  about  to  look  at  pictures 
and  expected  her  to  be  affected.  And  of  course  he  had 
believed  himself  to  have  succeeded.  He  must  have  seen 
tears  in  her  eyes.  Good  God!  Had  he  believed  them 
tears  of  repentance? 

Even  so,  he  had  been  eager  to  be  rid  of  her  presence. 
Erica  clasped  her  hands  far  back  in  the  carriage.  Oh, 
that  she  might  never  look  upon  his  ugly  face  again  1  But, 
alas !  now  she  would  be  obliged  to  —  just  for  the  once. 
She  would  have  to  correct  the  false  impression  she  had 
made.  It  made  no  difference  to  her  if  a  man  of  that 
sort  thought  her  worse  than  she  really  was ;  but  under 
no  circumstances  would  she  have  him  believe  her  a 
whining  penitent,  or  even  one  who  thought  she  had  to 
justify  herself  in  any  way  for  any  action  of  her  life. 

Fortunately  it  would  be  simple  to  accomplish  that. 
Cotton  was  at  the  Royal.  She  would  see  him  at  night 
and  get  the  whole  thing  off  her  mind  for  always. 

The  rain  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  Mrs. 
Manners  made  the  cocher  stop  and  put  back  the  top, 
which  he  was  loth  to  take  the  time  to  do.  The  sun  shone 
out  dazzlingly.  It  would  dry  that  Panama  hat  that  made 
the  lawyer  look  like  a  haymaker,  Erica  decided,  her  sense 
of  humor  coming  to  her  aid  and  reducing  the  tenseness 


64  FIREWEED 

of  the  situation.  And  she  began  to  wonder  why  Cotton 
—  of  all  persons  —  should  be  in  Paris  —  ye  gods !  visiting 
the  galleries !  And  how  did  he  happen  to  be  staying  at 
this  almost  unknown  little  inn  in  the  rue  St.  Honore? 

She  was  herself  only  there  by  accident  and  had  only 
engaged  her  rooms  that  morning.  A  week  ago  Miss  Lan- 
caster had  sprained  her  ankle,  so  that  it  would  be  some 
time  before  she  would  be  of  service  as  a  traveling  com- 
panion. At  the  instance  of  an  old  friend  of  her  aunt's 
who  had  lived  at  the  Royal  for  years,  Erica  had  reluc- 
tantly decided  to  fall  in  with  a  conducted  party  rather 
than  take  the  burden  of  their  traveling  upon  herself. 
Through  this  lady,  she  had  made  arrangements  with  one 
Dr.  Burgess,  an  American  clergyman  now  at  the  Royal, 
who  was  on  his  way  South  with  a  party  of  nine,  for 
herself  and  Miss  Lancaster  to  complete  the  tour  with 
them.  On  the  whole  it  seemed  rather  better  than  to 
secure  a  private  courier.  There  would  be  no  need  of 
her  mixing  with  the  party  —  she  was  to  have  her  own 
rooms  and  always  to  travel  first  class.  She  merely  wished 
to  be  rid  of  the  bother  of  bookings,  tariffs  and  the  like. 

Meanwhile,  Caleb  Cotton  had  paid  a  second  entrance 
fee,  and  had  returned  to  study  the  portraits  of  Napoleon 
and  his  generals,  —  he  had  felt  like  waiting  until  another 
day  before  going  back  to  Marie-Antoinette.  But  he  lost 
himself  happily  among  the  portraits  and  didn't  think  of 
the  interruption  again  until  he  was  on  his  devious  way 
back  to  the  Royal. 

Just  as  Mrs.  Manners  had  driven  away,  it  had  occurred 
to  him  that  she,  too,  was  staying  at  the  Royal.  Now,  on 
a  sudden,  he  quickened  his  strolling  pace  as  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  she  and  her  nurse  must  be  the  strangers 
who,  it  had  been  announced  the  night  before,  were  to 
join  those  who  had  left  New  York  together  and  who 


FIREWEED  6$ 

already  seemed  so  like  a  family  group  that  they  rather 
dreaded  the  advent  of  strangers. 

Surely  it  was  a  strange  coincidence!  And  surely  it 
was  not  a  pleasing  one.  However,  most  likely  when  Mrs. 
Manners  should  discover  that  he  was  among  the  party, 
she  would  change  her  plans.  She  was  an  accomplished 
and  experienced  traveler,  he  knew. 

As  he  paused  to  look  from  the  dark,  narrow  street  into 
a  sunny  courtyard,  Cotton's  face  grew  troubled.  Mrs. 
Manners's  companion,  he  understood,  had  met  with  some 
sort  of  accident.  It  might  therefore  be  difficult  for 
her  to  make  the  change.  In  which  case,  he  didn't  see 
anything  else  to  do  but  to  make  other  arrangements  for 
himself  and  Nancy. 

He  sighed.  Nancy  would  be  grieved  to  leave  Miss 
Melendy.  For  himself,  the  idea  of  parting  from  these 
people  he  liked  so  warmly  was  hard  to  face.  And  he 
wasn't  sure  that  Dr.  Burgess  would  have  wanted  the 
newcomer  if  he  had  understood  that  those  with  whom 
she  had  always  associated  would  look  down  upon  the 
class  of  people  who  made  up  the  party. 

He  recalled  the  interview  he  had  just  had  with  her. 
Away  from  the  importunate  images  of  the  Musee,  he 
could  now  give  Mrs.  Manners  the  undivided  attention 
he  couldn't  give  her  in  the  gallery,  and  his  face  grew  still 
more  grave.  He  was  surprised  and  even  shocked  to 
realize  how  little  she  had  changed.  He  had  believed  that 
her  husband's  tragic  death  must  have  affected  her  tre- 
mendously; he  could  not  conceive  it  as  otherwise;  and 
yet,  so  far  as  he  could  judge,  it  hadn't  left  a  shadow.  It 
almost,  —  indeed,  it  quite  seemed  to  him  that  she  looked 
younger  and  fresher;  she  was  truly  like  a  young  girl, 
proud,  scornful,  selfish.  Caleb  Cotton's  hand  sought  for 
his  pocket.  She  was  flippant,  merely  flippant,  in  the  face 
of  destiny. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Except  in  instances  where  her  exaggerated  regard  for 
wealth  and  social  standing  prejudiced  her,  Elizabeth  Lan- 
caster was  mistress  of  a  goodly  portion  of  common  sense. 
Wherefore,  when  she  sprained  her  ankle,  by  a  misstep 
due  to  an  absurdly  narrow  skirt,  she  understood  that  she 
must  give  up  everything  for  a  fortnight  and  "  favor  " 
the  injured  member  all  summer. 

That  this  would  not  be  simple  nor  easy.  Miss  Lancas- 
ter well  knew.  In  order  to  put  it  through,  she  would  be 
obliged  to  assert  herself  in  a  manner  that  for  a  person 
in  her  position  would  be  considered  disagreeable.  But 
no  one  else  would  take  any  thought  for  her ;  and  neither 
Erica  Manners  nor  any  other  of  the  aristocratic  ladies 
who  had  taken  her  up  would  voluntarily  spare  her  in 
time  of  weakness,  nor  stand  by  her  if  she  should  become 
incapacitated  for  usefulness  to  them. 

She  had  proposed,  most  reluctantly,  to  return  to  Amer- 
ica; but  Mrs.  Manners  would  not  hear  of  that.  She 
declared  she  could  temporarily  do  without  massage  and 
other  little  services  Miss  Lancaster  was  in  the  habit  of 
rendering  and  that,  if  it  should  prove  necessary,  she 
would  arrange  to  relieve  her  of  the  details  of  travel  by 
getting  a  courier.  Miss  Lancaster  knew  that  she  did  this 
willingly ;  but  she  would  never  have  acknowledged  that 
what  Mrs.  Manners  wanted  and  what  she  paid  for  liber- 
ally she  could  still  have,  —  the  services  of  a  toady. 

On  the  day  when  they  moved  to  the  Royal,  where  the 
party  which  they  had  joined  had  quarters,  as  Mrs.  Man- 

66 


FIREWEED  67 

ners  returned  to  the  hotel  after  her  visit  to  the  Carna- 
valet,  she  found  Miss  Lancaster  asleep  on  the  sofa  in  the 
sitting-room  which  connected  their  bedrooms.  Longing 
to  relieve  her  mind,  to  free  herself  from  an  unaccustomed 
sense  of  chagrin  that  was  akin  to  humiliation,  Erica  was 
annoyed  and  even  angry  not  to  have  an  eager,  waiting 
ear.  It  would  have  been  decent  of  Libby,  she  told  her- 
self, to  wait  until  after  lunch,  when  other  cats  napped; 
then  she  might  have  slept  the  whole  afternoon  away. 
But  to  doze  off  in  the  forenoon  was  disgusting ! 

At  the  risk  of  breaking  the  Dresden  china  ball  on  the 
handle,  she  dropped  her  sunshade  noisily.  But  her 
"  Pardon  me,  Libby,"  was  quite  thrown  away,  for  Miss 
Lancaster  slept  on  peacefully.  Dropping  a  book  was  as 
ineffectual,  and  picking  it  up.  Erica  stood  a  moment  by 
the  table  turning  over  its  pages ;  but  she  could  not  forget 
herself :  the  words  were  words  and  letters  —  nothing 
more. 

In  desperation  she  decided  to  betake  herself  to  the 
hot  garden ;  for  she  felt  as  if  she  should  go  mad  if  she 
remained  alone  with  Libby  in  that  ugly  travesty  of  slum- 
ber. But  she  felt  indignant,  as  she  seated  herself  in  one 
of  the  green  painted  chairs  that  encircled  a  round  iron 
table  underneath  a  small  fig  tree,  as  she  discovered 
another  woman  in  the  further  corner  of  the  place.  She 
opened  her  book  moodily. 

Quiet  and  retired  as  if  it  were  in  the  heart  of  the 
country,  the  garden  was  enclosed  on  two  adjoining  sides 
by  the  gray  walls  of  the  old  hotel,  which  had  been  the 
dormitory  of  a  religious  association,  and  on  the  other  two 
by  high  walls  of  stone  overgrown  with  ivy,  with  a  con- 
fused tangle  of  green  above  and  all  about.  The  fig  tree 
was  barren,  but  had  beautiful  glossy  leaves,  and  further 
shade  was  furnished  by  an  horse-chestnut  and  a  few  small 
maples.     Shrubbery  phn-^oived  the  corners,  and  geraniums 


^  FIREWEED 

and  begonias  bloomed  rather  palely  in  the  narrow  bor- 
ders. If  one  could  reconcile  oneself  to  the  substitution 
of  clean  gravel  for  turf,  it  was  a  fairly  satisfactory  spot ; 
but  that  some  of  the  Americans  failed  to  do. 

Erica  had  not  turned  a  page  when  the  other  occupant 
of  the  garden,  a  stout  woman  with  very  small  feet  and 
ankles  which  made  for  awkwardness  in  walking,  quitted 
her  table  and  came  and  stood  before  her,  smiling  com- 
placently. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Miles,  of  Buell,  Indiana "  (Erica  added 
the  U.S.A.)  she  announced  suavely,  "and  I  presume 
you're  one  of  the  two  new  members  Dr.  Burgess  told  us 
last  night  we  were  to  have  the  pleasure  of  receiving. 
Welcome  to  our  midst.  You  will,  I  am  .=ure,  find  us 
a  cozy  little  family." 

Erica  eyed  her  superciliously.  "  I  am  Mrs.  Manners," 
she  said  coldly;  while  the  other  seated  herself  without 
being  asked.  Then,  as  if  that  was  all  that  was  necessary 
she  looked  down  upon  her  book.  Scorn  was  usually  her 
strongest  feeling  against  such  people,  and  ridicule  was 
more  common  than  that.  But  Erica  found  herself  hating 
this  woman  hotly.  She  hated  her  smug  complacency  and 
she  hated  her  because  she  was  fat.  She  viewed  all  stout 
persons  with  scorn,  indeed,  though  her  own  slenderness 
was  not  at  all  because  she  was  not  indolent  nor  self-indul- 
gent, but  was  in  part  hereditary  and  in  part  good  luck. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  are  you  going  out  with  us  this 
afternoon  ?  "  the  newcomer  asked  eagerly. 

"  No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Miles,"  returned  Erica  icily.  "  I 
am  afraid  you  hardly  understand  the  circumstance  which 
compelled  me  to  engage  Mr.  Burgess's  services  for  myself 
and  my  companion.  We  became  members  of  the  party 
solely  for  convenience  in  traveling.  I  do  not,  of  course, 
expect  to  go  about  sightseeing  —  I've  been  in  Europe 
time  and  again  —  and  it's  quite  likely  that  I  sha'n't  even 


FIREWEED  69 

meet  the  other  members.  My  companion  sprained  her 
ankle,  and  I  merely  wish  to  get  down  into  Italy  with  as 
little  bother  as  may  be.     That's  all." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Miles,  referring  to 
the  accident.     "  How  did  she  do  it,  Mrs.  Manners  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure  —  some  carelessness,  I  fancy," 
returned  Erica  insolently,  poking  the  gravel  with  the  toe 
of  her  white  shoe. 

Mrs.  Miles  could  hardly  credit  her  ears.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  such  things  could  be?  But  her  sympathy  went 
out  the  more  warmly  to  the  injured  companion. 

"  Has  she  ever  been  abroad  before?"  she  asked  with 
deep  concern  evident  in  her  decidedly  Western  voice. 

"Miss  Lancaster?  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  I 
should  fancy  not." 

"  What  a  pity,  for  no  doubt  she'd  admire  to  go  about 
with  us,"  declared  Mrs.  Miles,  who  had  had  no  experience 
in  being  snubbed,  and  didn't  realize  that  she  wasn't  mak- 
ing herself  agreeable  to  this  stranger.  "  You  never  could 
imagine  how  very  pleasant  Dr.  Burgess  makes  every- 
thing. When  we  first  reach  a  place,  we  take  a  drive  so 
as  to  get  the  main  points  of  the  city  in  our  heads,  —  the 
doctor  calls  it  orienting  ourselves.  He's  perfectly  lovely, 
knows  everything,  and  is  that  patient  and  kind.  He's  very 
amusing,  too,  though  being  a  clergyman,  he  isn't,  of 
course,  so  funny  as  Mr.  Cotton.  He's  simply  killing. 
We  all  nearly  die  laughing  when  he  gets  to  training  as 
my  cousin  Addie  calls  it  —  telling  funny  stories,  you 
know." 

Her  fat  arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  rested  on  the  table. 
She  smiled  confidingly.  Erica,  in  the  shock  of  surprise 
with  which  she  learned  that  Mr.  Cotton  was  traveling 
with  Burgess  (which  she  should  have  guessed)  hesitated 
a  moment.  Then  she  remarked  cynically :  "  Cotton's  cer- 
tainly amusing  to  look  at." 


70  FIREWEED 

"  Oh,  then  you  have  seen  him?  "  Mrs.  Miles  exclaimed. 
"  Yes,  Mrs.  Manners,  indeed  he  is  tall  and  spare,  Mr. 
Cotton  is,  but  you  know  Miles  and  I  have  always  felt 
as  if  it  suited  him.  And  all  the  others  of  the  party  seem 
to  feel  just  the  same.  We  all  fairly  worship  him.  He's 
really  the  kindest  hearted  man  I  ever  came  across,  and 
Miles,  if  I  do  say  it,  is  something  wonderful  that  way. 
And  on  shipboard  —  " 

She  paused  suddenly. 

"  Well,  isn't  that  queer.  There's  Nancy,  his  daugh- 
ter, now.  I  must  go  speak  to  her.  Excuse  me,  Mrs. 
Manners  for  being  abrupt,  but  Nancy  is  so  delicate  and 
sort  of  —  spiritual  that  we  women  —  even  the  girls,  too, 
for  that  matter  —  just  vie  with  one  another  in  mothering 
her.    Well,  good-by  for  now." 

"  Forever,  you  fat  old  fool !  "  Erica  murmured  to  her- 
self. 

She  glanced  with  some  curiosity  towards  the  newcomer. 
And  what  had  started  as  a  sigh  of  relief  at  being  rid 
of  Mrs.  Miles's  company  changed  involuntarily  to  a  deep 
breath  almost  of  incredulity  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  Caleb 
Cotton's  daughter.  There  was  truly  something  about  the 
girl  to  give  one  pause;  and  Erica  Manners,  thoroughly 
selfish  and  worldly  as  she  was,  was  sensitive  to  the  appeal 
of  the  things  that  are  more  excellent.  Now  she  did  not 
lose  one  detail  of  the  girl's  loveliness,  —  her  sweet  face 
with  its  pure  outline,  her  soft,  madonna  hair,  her  simple 
attractive  gown,  her  gentleness,  her  singular  grace,  her 
girlish  modesty  and  pretty  deference  to  the  older  woman 
—  a  sort  of  modesty  long  out  of  fashion  and  largely  out 
of  existence.  She  was  near  enough  to  catch  the  tones  of 
her  sweet  young  voice,  too,  though  she  heard  no  words ; 
for  the  garden  was  filled,  on  a  sudden,  with  the  chatter  of 
the  remaining  women  of  the  party  who  poured  in,  evi- 
dently just  back  from  some  excursion. 


FIREWEED  71 

Stokes  or  his  sister  must  have  suggested  the  image, 
for  as  she  took  flight,  Erica  too,  thought  of  Virginia  along 
with  a  little  Saint  Catherine  of  Botticelli's.  But  when 
she  joined  Miss  Lancaster,  who  had  waked  at  length,  she 
referred  to  Miss  Cotton  as  exactly  the  sort  of  bread-and- 
butter  miss  one  might  have  expected  Cotton's  daughter 
to  be. 

"  The  surprising  part  is  that  she's  really  pretty,  though 
in  a  Sunday  school  book  fashion,"  she  owned.  "  It  makes 
one  think  of  *  Look  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine 
comes,'  you  know,  Libby.  Well,  the  womanly  woman's 
bad  enough,  Lord  knows,  but  the  maidenly  maiden's  cer- 
tainly the  limit." 

"  I  confess  Miss  Cotton  seemed  rather  attractive  to  me 
this  morning,"  Miss  Lancaster  plucked  up  spirit  to 
remark. 

"  What !  "  cried  Erica. 

"  She  came  in  to  see  me,"  observed  Miss  Lancaster, 
endeavoring  vainly  to  be  nonchalant. 

"  Libby  Lancaster !  What  in  hell  do  you  mean,  any- 
how ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Manners  in  strange  excitement. 
"Who  came  to  see  you?" 

"Miss  Cotton." 

"  Elizabeth  Lancaster !  "  cried  Erica  reproachfully. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Erica,  upon  my  word  I  couldn't," 
declared  Miss  Lancaster.  "  It  seems  she  —  Miss  Nancy, 
—  knew  the  doctor  —  I  believe  he  had  been  called  in  to 
give  her  a  tonic  or  something.  I  suppose  he  must  have 
told  her  about  me,  and  that  I  was  alone  and  rather 
wretched." 

Miss  Lancaster's  voice  had  become  plaintive.  Erica's 
indignation  increased.  Probably  missy  would  have  told 
"  pappy  "  how  she  neglected  her  companion. 

"  The  doctor  knew  you  were  better  alone,  Libby,"  she 
said  severely. 


72  FIREWEED 

Miss  Lancaster  maintained  a  meek  silence.  Reaching 
over,  she  diplomatically  adjusted  the  cushion  under  her 
foot,  catching  her  breath,  as  if  in  involuntary  pain,  as  she 
did  so. 

Mrs.  Manners  was  unaffected.  But  she  was  not  one 
to  stand  on  ceremony. 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  it,  can't  you  ?  "  she  ordered  irri- 
tably, "  though  I  must  say,  Libby,  I  consider  it  rather 
indecent  of  you  to  foregather  with  Caleb  Cotton's 
daughter." 

"  Erica,  upon  my  sacred  word,  I  couldn't  help  it,  I 
didn't  know  she  was  within  three  thousand  miles  of  us, 
nor  her  father  either.  She  knocked  and  came  right  in. 
Of  course  she's  childish  and  unsophisticated,  but  her  chat- 
ter helped  me  to  forget  the  pain." 

"  Nonsense,  Libby,  there  isn't  any  pain  now,"  Erica 
declared.     "  There  can't  be." 

"  Oh,  but  Erica,  there  is  indeed,"  insisted  the  other 
with  mild  obstinacy,  and  shut  her  eyes  as  if  a  sudden 
twinge  stabbed  her  at  that  very  instant.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  had  had  no  pain  for  the  past  two  days,  but  she 
felt  obliged  to  keep  up  the  fiction  until  she  believed  it 
wise  to  use  the  foot. 

"  Humph !  "  Mrs.  Manners  shrugged  her  shoulders 
gracefully.  "  Well,  what  did  missy  chatter  about  ?  Did 
she  mention  her  esteemed  father  ?  " 

"  Once  or  twice.  Oh,  Erica,"  she  smiled  grimly  — 
"  What  do  you  think !    She  calls  him  pappy !  " 

"  I  know.  Pappy  Cottontail.  Hoosier,  I  suppose," 
said  Erica  dryly. 

"  Buell,  Indiana,"  said  Miss  Lancaster  trying  to  repro- 
duce Mrs.  Holbrook's  manner. 

Erica  crossed  the  room  quickly  to  look  at  an  engraving 
that  hung  between  the  further  windows.  She  thought  it 
was  Marie-Antoinette,  and  her  quick  mind  already  antici- 


FIREWEED  75 

pated  mentioning  the  fact  of  the  picture  to  Cotton,  when 
she  discovered  it  to  be  the  (supposed)  Countess  Potocka, 

"  What  else,  Libby  ?  "  she  demanded  crossly  as  she 
returned. 

"  She  talked  a  lot  about  a  Miss  Melendy,  and  spoke  of 
a  Mrs.  Miles  who  is  an  old,  old  friend  of  pappy's.  She 
offered  to  read  to  me,  but  I  didn't  feel  strong  enough  for 
that." 

"  Good  Lord,  you  haven't  been  ill,  Libby !  What's  got 
into  you !  Spraining  one's  ankle  is  nothing  at  all  after 
the  first  few  hours.  You  mustn't  let  yourself  go  like 
that.     It's  arrant  nonsense." 

Miss  Lancaster's  voice  was  her  only  protest.  It  be- 
came feeble  and  plaintive. 

"  She  sang  to  me,"  she  added  mildly.  "  Her  voice  was 
so  sweet  that  I  felt  as  if  she  must  sing,  and  asked  her. 
She  blushed  all  over ;  but  when  I  told  her  that  if  she  would 
sing,  I  could  close  my  eyes  and  perhaps  get  a  little  sleep 
—  I  have  lost  a  lot.  Erica  —  she  gave  in  at  once.  She 
sang  for  —  well,  I  should  say  over  half  an  hour.  I'm  not 
sure,  for  to  my  surprise,  I  did  get  a  bit  of  sleep,  and  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  she  had  stolen  out." 

"  She  needn't  have  stolen"  remarked  Erica  dryly,  "  a 
fife  and  drum  corps  wouldn't  have  disturbed  you." 

"  I  dare  say  I  did  sleep  heavily  for  the  few  minutes  I 
lost  myself,"  the  other  acknowledged.  "  I  was  quite  worn 
out.  It  did  me  good,  though  I  feel  a  little  weak  from  it. 
You  hardly  understand.  Erica,  that  all  this  has  been  a 
shock  to  my  nerves." 

As  Erica  smiled  provokingly,  showing  a  single  dimple 
that  rarely  appeared,  a  man  servant  knocked  and  entered 
to  lay  the  table  for  lunch. 

Over  the  salad,  Mrs.  Manners  inquired  as  to  Miss  Cot- 
ton's voice. 

"  Rather  sweet  and  true,"  responded  Miss  Lancaster, 


74  FIREWEED 

who  pretended  to  have  a  better  ear  than  she  possessed. 
"  Of  course  her  voice  hasn't  been  trained.  But  if  it  had, 
I  should  have  been  the  loser,  for  she  wouldn't  have  been 
allowed  to  sing  all  that  time.  Her  repertoire  belongs  to 
the  dark  ages,  but  —  " 

It  came  suddenly  to  Elizabeth  Lancaster  that  the  songs 
Miss  Cotton  had  sung,  which  had  really  charmed  her, 
were  exactly  what  her  father  and  mother  would  have 
enjoyed.  But  she  never  mentioned  her  parents  to  her 
wealthy  patrons,  and  most  of  them  supposed  her  to  be 
alone  in  the  world. 

"Such  as?" 

"  Let  me  see.  Oh,  Bonnie  Doon,  and  Put  Me  m  My 
Little  Bed  —  fancy !  —  and " 

"  Gospel  Hymns  ?  "  suggested  Erica  as  she  rang  for 
sweets. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  returned  Miss  Lancaster  vaguely 
as  if  she  hardly  knew  what  Mrs.  Manners  meant.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  had  herself  sung  Gospel  Hymns  at  the 
weekly  prayer  meeting  every  Friday  evening  of  her  girl- 
hood. 

Erica  pushed  aside  her  plate  and  rose,  leaving  Miss 
Lancaster  to  linger  over  her  pastry. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  right  glad  you  had  such  a  happy,  pastoral 
morning,  Libby,"  she  declared  with  another  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  "  though  I  fear  it  will  be  your  last  chance  at 
missy.  Pappy  will  forbid  her  associating  with  us,  —  you, 
my  dear,  as  well  as  me.  It's  rather  singular,  but  Del 
Holbrook  told  me  that  people  said  he  hated  you  even 
more  than  he  did  me." 

Miss  Lancaster  flushed  painfully  and  with  painful  ef- 
fect. But  she  checked  the  indignant  protest  that  rose 
to  her  lips.  After  all,  as  she  knew  well,  indignant  re- 
joinder was  not  for  the  like  of  her.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  in  a  labored  sort  of  fashion. 


FIREWEED  75 

"  I  should  worry,"  she  remarked  with  her  lumbering 
imitation  of  Mrs.  Manners's  fluent  slang. 

Mrs.  Manners  disappeared  into  the  next  room. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Erica?"  Miss  Lan- 
caster called  in  to  her,  "  get  a  courier  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  will  be  necessary,"  Erica  returned 
indifferently.  "  We  didn't  intend  to  mix  with  the  others 
anyhow.  We'll  only  have  to  be  a  bit  more  wary  to  avoid 
the  Cottontails.  You'll  be  careful  after  this,  won't  you, 
Libby?" 

She  appeared  on  the  threshold  as  she  reached  her 
question. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Erica,"  responded  Miss  Lancaster  sol- 
emnly. "  It  will  be  simple  to  avoid  him,  too.  Don't  you 
think  he  would  be  just  the  sort  to  take  in  all  the  excur- 
sions so  as  to  get  his  money's  worth  ?  " 

"  Likely  enough.  That's  damn  poor  cream  filling  you're 
eating,  Libby,  Don't  you  want  some  fruit  or  something  ?  " 
asked  Erica. 

"  No  thanks,  dear.  I  know  he's  going  this  afternoon 
on  a  bus  ride  they've  postponed  until  to-day  because  of 
the  weather,  for  Miss  Nancy  said  so.  It's  a  regular 
Christian  Endeavor  excursion,  you  know.  Erica :  —  Eiffel 
Tower,  Invalides,  Bastille,  —  oh,  all  sorts  of  weird 
places." 

Erica  retired  to  her  pretty  chintz  hung  bedroom.  She 
happened  to  know  that  the  Burgess  party  were  to  leave 
the  hotel  at  half -past  three.  At  three  she  appeared  before 
the  astonished  Miss  Lancaster  dressed  in  an  embroidered 
fawn-colored  linen  she  had  purchased  a  few  days  before 
and  a  charming  little  French  hat,  looking  girlish  and  sin- 
gularly attractive. 

"  Do  you  know,  Libby,  I  feel  as  if  it  would  be  rather 
a  lark  for  you  and  me  to  go  with  the  bunch  this  after- 
noon," she  proposed  eagerly  and  rather  sweetly.     "  Just 


76  FIREWEED 

for  once  it  would  be  sport  to  see  the  antics  of  the  aunties 
Mrs.  Miles  spoke  of  this  morning.  You  could  go  all 
right  if  I  got  that  big  strapping  Jules  to  carry  you  out 
and  put  you  in  the  car.  You  wouldn't  need  to  leave  it, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  Erica,  it  would  kill  me !  "  cried  the  horror-stricken 
nurse  in  a  voice  which  grew  suddenly  faint. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  would  do  you  good,"  Erica  re- 
joined. "  You  know  you've  got  to  make  a  start  some 
time." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mustn't  let  my  foot  down  yet,"  pleaded  the 
other,  her  voice  yet  feebler.  "  In  three  or  four  days 
more,  I  shall  be  able  to  go  about  a  little  —  with  care. 
Couldn't  you  wait  a  little.  Erica?" 

"  No,  Libby,  I  have  the  inclination  to  go  this  after- 
noon," Erica  declared  coldly.  "  Of  course  if  you  won't 
go  — 

"  Erica !  "  cried  Miss  Lancaster  pitifully.  "  You  know 
I  would  if  I  could.     But  I  don't  dare." 

"  I  can  go  alone,"  Mrs.  Manners  declared  stiffly  as  she 
rang  for  a  servant. 

As  she  waited,  she  changed  the  note  she  had  written 
to  Dr.  Burgess,  so  that  it  asked  or  rather  demanded  only 
one  seat  for  the  afternoon. 

The  doctor  appeared  at  the  door  himself.  He  was 
extremely  sorry,  but  the  only  place  left  in  the  car  was  not 
good  —  the  middle  place  in  the  back  seat.  But  perhaps 
as  she  was  familiar  with  Paris  she  wouldn't  mind. 

Mrs.  Manners  minded  exceedingly,  it  appeared.  Dr. 
Burgess,  quite  unused  to  such  behavior,  and  taken  aback, 
could  only  repeat  that  there  was  nothing  else. 

"  Couldn't  you  change  one  of  the  others  ?  '*  she  asked 
arrogantly. 

"  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  couldn't  do  that.  I  shouldn't 
have  the  right,"  he  replied,  still  further  surprised. 


FIREWEED  77 

Then  he  bethought  himself.  "  Oh,  I  never  thought. 
You  can  have  my  place,"  he  proposed  kindly.  "  It's  right 
here  in  front."  He  indicated  number  2  in  the  diagram 
he  took  from  his  pocket.  "  I  usually  take  it  because  it's 
rather  easier  to  point  out  things  from  there  and  then  I 
can  direct  the  driver  at  the  same  time.  However,  I'll 
manage  very  well  from  the  place  in  back." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Erica  coldly,  and  he  gave  her 
the  ticket. 

He  had  expected  a  formal  word  of  regret  from  her. 
When  none  came,  believing  she  must  nevertheless  feel 
uncomfortable  at  having  disturbed  his  plan,  he  spoke  in 
the  same  reassuring  way  he  would  have  answered  her 
word  of  compunction. 

"  Personally,  I'm  rather  pleased  by  the  change,  Mrs. 
Manners,"  he  remarked  politely,  "  for  it  puts  me  beside 
Mr,  Cotton,  and  I  confess  it's  a  treat  to  sit  next  to  him. 
Being  the  only  two  men,  we  usually  feel  constrained  to 
take  opposite  poles  on  account  of  helping  the  ladies." 

Bowing  courteously,  he  went  on.  All  the  eagerness 
Erica  had  felt  died  out.  She  could  have  stamped  her 
foot  in  rage.  She  had  had  a  chance  to  drive  about  for 
two  or  three  hours  sitting  next  to  Cotton :  she  had  thrown 
away  the  only  opportunity  she  was  likely  ever  to  get  to 
speak  to  him  personally.  For  even  if  he  continued  with 
the  party  and  she  did  not  leave,  he  would  warn  Burgess 
against  any  repetition  of  such  contingency.  She  might 
—  oh,  she  might  have  entered  that  wedge !  She  could  at 
least  have  shown  him  enough  of  her  real  self  so  that  he 
would  have  felt  that  he  had  misunderstood  her. 

More  than  once  she  exclaimed  to  Miss  Lancaster  over 
the  narrow  escape  she  had  had.  But  she  was  so  irritable 
for  the  remaining  quarter  hour,  that  the  latter  was  thank- 
ful when  she  left  the  room  to  join  the  others  below. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  Oh,  you  see,  Cotton,  it  was  this  way,"  Dr.  Burgess 
was  explaining,  "  I  exchanged  places  at  the  last  minute 
with  our  new  member,  Mrs.  Manners.  It  would  have 
been  a  pity  not  to  allow  her  a  good  seat  on  her  first  outing 
with  us.  I  will  introduce  her  to  you  presently.  I  hope 
she  may  prove  rather  a  charming  addition  to  our  group." 

Caleb  Cotton  pursed  his  lips;  but  it  was  not  because, 
despite  the  doctor's  good  will,  his  words  were  rather 
belied  by  the  doubtfully  hopeful  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  As  it  happens,  I  met  Mrs.  Manners  this  very  morning 
in  the  Carnavalet,  and  spoke  with  her,"  he  returned,  then 
added  in  his  honest  way :  "  The  fact  is,  I  knew  of  her 
before.  She  comes  from  our  home,  —  from  St.  Vincent, 
that  is  to  say." 

"Well,  isn't  that  singular!  And  to  think  she  should 
have  fallen  in  with  us !  "  exclaimed  Dr.  Burgess  with 
genuine  gratification.     "  Old  friends,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  Hardly,  doctor.  In  fact  we're  not  friends  at  all. 
We  could  scarcely  be  called  acquaintances.  I  know  more 
or  less  about  her,  and  she  knows  who  I  am ;  but  we  belong 
to  different  neighborhoods.  Mrs.  Manners  moves  among 
the  most  fashionable  people  of  the  city,  —  is,  indeed,  one 
of  their  leaders." 

Dr.  Burgess's  good  gray  eyes  narrowed.  In  a  certain 
way,  he  was  a  handsome  man,  tall,  large  without  being 
stout,  with  a  pleasant,  florid  face  relieved  by  thick  snow- 
white  hair  and  a  white  moustache,  and  an  easy,  genial, 

78 


FIREWEED  79 

rather  clerical  manner.  He  wondered  at  the  lawyer's 
rather  dry  account  of  acquaintanceship  between  himself 
and  this  lady  who  wasn't,  despite  her  extreme  sophistica- 
tion, anything  like  the  equal  of  Mr.  Cotton.  Dr.  Burgess, 
in  common  with  his  whole  party,  had  realized  their  singu- 
lar fortune  in  numbering  among  their  ranks  a  man  of  his 
breadth  of  mind,  originality  of  personality  and  trans- 
parent nobility  of  character.  It  would  have  seemed  to 
him  that  such  an  one,  being  an  eminent  lawyer  into  the 
bargain,  must  have  been  the  social  peer  of  any  in  even  a 
larger  city  than  St.  Vincent. 

"If  I  bad  had  any  idea  that  you  knew  her  —  "he 
began  apologetically. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  doctor.  Mrs.  Manners  won't 
trouble  me  any,  and  if  I  find  that  I  trouble  her,  —  why, 
time  enough  then  to  see  what  we  can  do.  Being  she  has 
a  lame  nurse  on  her  hands,  she's  rather  more  encumbered 
than  Nanny  and  I.  But  don't  get  worked  up  now,  my 
friend." 

"  May  I  ask  where  her  husband  is  ? "  Dr.  Burgess 
questioned. 

"  Mr.  Manners  died  on  the  evening  of  the  sixteenth 
May  of  the  present  year,"  the  other  responded  in  his 
quaintly  accurate  way. 

"  What !  This  very  May !  Do  you  know,  I  sort  of 
concluded  in  my  secret  heart  she  might  be  what  they  call 
a  grass  widow.  She  said  nothing  of  her  husband  when 
she  came  to  me  first.  Mrs.  Miles  thought  she  wasn't  old 
enough  to  have  lost  her  husband  and  be  through  the  usual 
period  of  mourning." 

He  hesitated.  "  No  doubt  her  husband  disapproved  of 
the  custom  of  wearing  black.  I  believe  I  disapprove 
myself,"  he  added. 

"  It's  a  relic  of  barbarity,"  said  Cotton.  "  In  this  case, 
however,  —  well,  doctor,  the  fact  is  Mrs.  Manners's  mar- 


8o  FIREWEED 

ried  life  wasn't  so  satisfactory  as  to  make  her  feel  her 
loss  greatly,  and  I  suppose  —  " 

On  a  sudden  his  face  lighted  radiantly. 

"Hullo!  What's  this!"  he  exclaimed.  "George 
Washington,  as  I  live !  " 

His  head  was  bared  at  once.  Dr.  Burgess  had  the  car 
stopped.  Only  Cotton  alighted  and  went  back.  He  did 
not  keep  them  long,  but  returned  to  his  seat  full  of  enthu- 
siasm over  the  right  pretty  action  of  the  French  ladies  in 
erecting  the  statue.  And  he  drew  the  familiar  little  red 
memoranda  from  his  pocket  and  made  a  note  as  to  its 
exact  location.  By  this  time  all  the  party  understood 
that  he  always  came  back  to  any  shrine  he  recorded  thus, 
often  more  than  once.  It  would  be  like  him  to  revisit 
this  one  by  moonlight  to-night. 

Mrs.  Manners  didn't  turn  her  head  to  ascertain  the 
cause  of  their  delay.  But  late  in  the  afternoon  when 
she  happened  upon  Cotton,  he  had  the  little  red  book  in 
his  hand.  She  had  endured  the  circuitous  drive,  sulky 
and  bored,  replying  only  in  rude  monosyllables  to  the 
polite  advances  of  Maude  Griffiths,  the  pretty  school 
teacher  who  had  the  place  next  her.  She  had  not  left 
the  car  until  now,  though  it  had  stopped  again  and  again. 
But  when  she  had  learned  that  it  was  to  wait  half  an 
hour  before  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  she  alighted  and  an- 
nounced to  Maude  Griffiths,  very  much  as  if  the  latter 
had  been  a  servant,  that  she  intended  to  take  a  cab  and 
return  to  the  Royal. 

Seeing  none,  Erica  strolled  about  rather  aimlessly  and 
presently  found  herself  under  the  dome  of  the  Tomb  of 
Napoleon.  Retiring  to  the  shadow  of  the  further  wall, 
she  stood  idly  gazing  upon  the  thin  stream  of  tourists 
winding  through  and  looking  morbidly  down  upon  the 
sarcophagus.  As  she  recognized  the  fat  Miles  woman 
among  them,  she  shrank  further  into  her  background. 


FIREWEED  8i 

But  she  knew  the  moment  when  Dr.  Burgess  and  a  half 
dozen  women  passed  through  the  further  door ;  and  pos- 
sibly she  was  not  wholly  surprised  to  see  that  there  was 
only  one  other  person  in  the  room  except  herself.  Caleb 
Cotton  occupied  the  center  of  the  place,  hanging  over 
the  marble  balustrade. 

Erica  did  not  move,  but  stared  at  him  critically.  It 
seemed  long  ago,  far  in  the  past,  somehow,  that  she  had 
talked  with  him  in  the  Carnavalet. 

The  sun  was  westering,  the  shadows  strong  and  the 
light  dramatically  effective.  It  seemed  to  concentrate 
upon  Cotton's  figure,  —  and  truly  it  could  never  have 
fallen  upon  a  more  singular  one.  It  was  awkward  to 
the  extreme,  typically  Yankee  (or  was  it  Hoosier?)  as 
he  leaned  far  over,  with  conspicuous  elbows  and  the  inev- 
itable Panama  hat  tucked  under  his  arm. 

He  wore  the  same  dark-gray  suit  with  sack  coat,  and 
an  undress  shirt  with  blue  stripes.  The  gray  tint  matched 
his  hair  and  the  blue  stripe  brought  out  the  blue  of  his 
eyes,  effecting  an  accidental  charm  which  came  back  to 
Erica  now  when  she  saw  his  face  only  in  shadow.  The 
stuff  of  his  suit  was  good,  but  she  knew  by  the  way 
it  hung  from  his  gaunt  figure  that  he  had  got  it  ready- 
made,  and  she  tried  to  despise  him  for  it.  She  had  a 
great  mind  to  answer  one  of  Stokes's  letters  —  which 
were  legion  already  —  just  for  the  sake  of  telling  him 
that,  because  of  the  firm,  he  ought  not  to  have  allowed 
Cotton  to  go  abroad  without  interviewing  a  tailor. 

By  moving  a  little,  she  could  see  his  face.  Good 
heavens  !  what  a  sentimentalist  the  man  was  !  You  might 
have  thought  from  his  expression  that  Napoleon  was  an 
angel  —  or  Cotton's  father,  —  no,  his  son !  How  could 
he  care  that  way  ?  But  he  was  obviously  sincere,  —  he 
wasn't  clever  enough  to  assume  anything  he  did  not  feel. 
And  Erica  was  herself  so  tired,  so  bored,  that  she  envied 


82  FIREWEED 

that  power  of  the  hero-worshiper  of  so  losing  himself  in 
contemplation  of  the  object  of  his  admiration. 

Moments  passed.  Erica  stood  irresolute.  Some  one 
would  of  course  come  back  to  look  for  Cotton.  He  would 
moon  there  all  day  otherwise.  And  if  it  were  one  of 
the  women,  be  sure  she  would  spy  Erica  out  and  be  full 
of  curiosity.  As  she  moved  to  go,  she  saw  by  the  grasp 
of  his  hand  on  the  Panama  hat  that  he  was  about  to 
follow  the  others.  Turning,  he  saw  her,  and  started 
ahead  to  open  the  door  for  her,  standing  back  to  allow 
her  to  pass  through.  Erica  wanted  to  speak,  but  for  the 
first  time  within  her  remembrance  was  at  a  loss  for  a 
remark. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  believe  that  he  only  got  what  was 
coming  to  him,  —  Napoleon,  I  mean,"  she  queried  in  a 
flippant  tone  that  fell  strangely,  even  to  her  own  ears, 
upon  the  intense  quiet,  and  jarred  painfully  upon  the 
solemn  mood  that  was  upon  Caleb  Cotton.  Insensibly 
he  frowned  deeply  as  if  he  had  suffered  a  sudden  stab 
of  pain. 

He  let  the  door  go  to.  For  a  little,  he  gazed  at  the 
shaft  of  yellow  light  streaming  through  the  window. 
Then  he  spoke,  with  his  wonted  scrupulous  regard  for 
the  question. 

"  Yes'm,  I  reckon  it  was  only  that  —  only  his  come- 
uppings,"  he  acknowledged  in  a  troubled  tone,  as  if  Napo- 
leon had  been  a  client  of  his.  "  But  he  had  the  world 
against  him,  —  the  whole  wide  world,  and  he  was  — 
well,  he  was  mighty  plucky,  anyhow." 

Erica  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Her  lip  curled.  She 
didn't  want  to  go;  but  she  gained  a  certain  satisfaction 
out  of  the  realization  that  it  was  he  who  was  keeping  her. 

"  And  consider,"  he  begged  her,  "  that  before  he  lay 
yonder,  he  had  been  six  years  a  prisoner  at  St.  Helena. 
As  you  say,  ma'am,  he  brought  it  upon  himself ;  —  but 


FIREWEED  83 

for  that  fiery  spirit,  that  eagle  of  the  crags,  to  be  caged 
for  six  years!  I  grant  you  he  was  ambitious,  —  over- 
ambitious.  I  am  afraid  that  he  was  passing  selfish, 
but  —  " 

He  moved  to  get  away  from  the  swinging  door  and  so 
stood  nearer  her,  and  his  voice  fell  low,  so  that  any  one 
observing  them,  Erica  felt,  would  take  them  for  friends. 

"  I  used  to  wake  from  sound  sleep  at  the  dead  of 
night  when  I  was  a  lad,  just  choking  with  the  burden  of 
his  fate,"  he  confessed,  very  much  indeed,  as  he  might 
have  spoken  to  a  friend,  "  eating  his  heart  out  in  idleness 
and  exile  and  longing,  for  six  dreary  years.  And  he  was 
only  in  the  early  fifties  when  his  whole  career  was  over,  — 
an  extinguisher  shut  down  over  the  burning  flame  of  his 
life  when  he  was  only  six  years  older  than  what  I  am 
now." 

"  But  you  don't  look  so  old  as  that,"  Erica  declared 
impulsively.  She  bit  her  lip  and  colored,  but  he  did  not 
notice  any  confusion. 

"  Do  you  think  so,"  he  said  ingenuously.  (She  knew 
by  now  that  he  avoided  using  her  name.)  "Well,  now, 
I  hardly  know  —  with  my  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles  ?  I 
shaved  off  my  whiskers  when  I  came  East,  —  like  enough 
it's  that.  So  far  as  I  recollect,  people  have  mostly  added 
years  to  my  age  in  the  room  of  taking  any  off." 

He  drew  forth  the  little  red  book,  and  Erica  wondered 
if  he  was  about  to  record  the  compliment. 

"  Red  Finland  granite,"  he  said  aloud,  politely  indicat- 
ing his  preoccupation.  "  Given  by  the  Emperor  Nich- 
olas I.  of  Russia.  I  must  tell  my  daughter  that.  But  I 
must  bring  her  here.  She  must  see  the  flags.  No  one 
would  believe  they  could  be  so  impressive,  just  battle- 
worn,  ragged  tarleton,  and  yet  —  " 

Again  and  more  deeply  Erica  envied  his  caring  so 
deeply  for  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things.      Bwt  why  he 


84  FIREWEED 

should  take  them  personally,  and  living  persons,  herself, 
quite  impersonally,  she  couldn't  understand.  A  certain 
past  they  had  in  common  meant  nothing  at  all  to  him.  He 
didn't  have  interest  enough  in  it  to  have  it  in  mind.  He 
didn't  care  whether  she  had  been  right  or  wrong,  good 
or  bad.  He  rambled  on  in  his  easy,  unconventional, 
countrified  fashion  when  he  met  her  just  as  he  would 
have  talked  with  the  guard  if  he  could  speak  French. 
He  was  never  aware  whom  he  was  addressing.  He  was 
thinking  aloud. 

"  Of  course,"  he  remarked  as  he  replaced  the  little 
book  carefully  in  his  breast  pocket,  "  it  was  an  handsome 
thing  for  Nicholas  to  do ;  and  yet,  it  doesn't  to  my  mind 
compare  with  that  old  slab  taken  from  his  grave  in  St. 
Helena.     You  have  seen  that,  I  dare  say  ?  " 

Erica  shocked  him  visibly  when  she  said  she  didn't 
remember.  She  didn't  shock  him  purposely.  When  he 
asked  her  a  question,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  being  cross- 
examined  under  oath  and  answered  like  a  scared  school- 
girl. 

He  held  the  door  open  for  her  and  followed  her  in. 
They  stood  together  before  the  worn,  gray,  truly  eloquent 
stone.  Erica,  looking  down  upon  it,  was  touched  in  spite 
of  herself ;  but  it  must  have  been  because  she  couldn't 
help  feeling  how  very  deeply  he  was  moved  by  it. 
She  saw  him  reach  out  his  hand  almost  shyly,  and  lay 
it  gently  on  the  monument;  but  he  said  nothing.  Pres- 
ently he  turned  to  gaze  upon  the  death  mask;  and  she, 
without  prompting,  saw  in  the  sad,  worn  face  something 
of  majesty  and  nobility. 

"If  he  could  come  back  at  this  moment "  —  he  was 
looking  strangely  at  the  dead  face,  an  expression  that  was 
almost  a  smile  upon  his  own  —  "I  reckon  it  would  have 
been  another  story,"  he  said  softly.  "  He  had  revised 
his  judgments  already,  it  would  seem." 


FIREWEED  85 

As  he  turned  to  her,  truly  one  who  had  seen  them 
would  have  taken  them  for  good  friends. 

"  It  was  a  kindly  thought,  saving  that  expression,  so 
that  the  harshest  judge  of  posterity  could  scarcely  be 
without  charity  for  the  dead,"  he  said  in  that  same  gently 
impersonal  way.  "  I  wonder  —  perhaps  it  might  be 
worth  while  to  do  some  such  thing  in  case  of  lesser  folk. 
It  might  comfort  those  left  behind  and  strengthen  their 
faith.  I  have  seen  in  my  day  many  a  beautiful  look  on 
the  faces  of  the  dead  —  peace  and  contentment  and  true 
nobility.  Once  —  a  friend  of  mine  was  an  hard  drinker. 
He  fought  against  it  to  the  very  last,  but  he  never  con- 
quered. Nor  was  he  ever  truly  vanquished.  The  look 
on  that  man's  face  after  he  had  gone  is  with  me  yet  — 
such  thankfulness,  I  never  saw,  and  a  sort  of  triumph, 
as  if  in  death  at  last  he  had  conquered." 

That  was  really  an  epochal  moment  in  Erica  Manners's 
life.  In  a  sense,  Cotton  had  forgotten  to  whom  he  was 
talking;  yet  there  must  have  been  something  in  her  to 
which  appeal  could  be  made,  else  he  had  never  so  spoken. 
She  stood  spellbound,  lost  in  the  vision,  in  the  sense  of 
the  fine  and  the  heroic  evoked  by  the  simple,  homely  elo- 
quence of  this  stranger.  Her  breath  quickened.  Her 
eyelids  quivered.     Something  strange  stirred  within  her. 

But  it  was  for  only  a  brief  moment.  She  was  rudely 
recalled  by  the  entrance  of  another  member  of  the  Bur- 
gess party,  a  breezy  young  Westerner. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,"  cried  the  girl,  who  had  a  pretty, 
saucy  manner  and  a  piquant  personality,  "  I've  looked 
everywhere  for  you.  Do  come.  It's  the  Eiffel  Tower, 
and  unless  you're  along,  no  one  will  make  the  ascent." 

"  Bless  me,  how  the  time  has  flown ! "  he  exclaimed, 
glancing  at  the  big  silver  watch  he  had  pulled  from  his 
pocket  the  instant  she  appeared.  "  I'm  with  you  this 
moment,"  he  declared  so  warmly  that  Mrs.  Manners  de- 


86  FIREWEED 

cided  that  he  could  be  extremely  personal.  "  It's  right 
good  of  you,  Miss  Melendy,  to  take  all  that  trouble  for 
the  like  o'  me." 

He  introduced  the  girl  to  Mrs.  Manners,  speaking  the 
lady's  name  for  the  first  time  in  her  presence.  "Mrs. 
Manners  is  now  one  of  the  Burgesses,  I  believe  you  know, 
Miss  Melendy,"  he  added.  "  I  dare  say  she,  too,  would 
have  been  sorry  to  miss  the  Eiffel  Tower." 

As  Erica  was  about  to  remark  that  it  would  be  rather 
a  lark,  the  pert  stranger  anticipated  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Cotton,  Mrs.  Manners  is  tired  of  us 
already,  and  supposed  to  be  this  minute  on  her  way  back 
to  the  hotel  in  a  taxi.  Doctor  was  just  counting  noses, 
and  Maude  told  him  that.  We  thought  you  might  have 
gone  with  her,  but  we  knew  you'd  be  back.  We  didn't 
have  to  count  to  know  that  you  were  missing,  sir !  " 

He  laughed.  "  Six  feet  four  can't  be  hidden,"  he  re- 
marked dryly,  and  asked  Mrs.  Manners  if  he  might  get 
her  a  cab. 

Erica  was  angry  with  herself  for  having  told  Miss 
Griffiths  of  her  plan  and  thus  precluded  changing  her 
mind;  but  she  was  more  irritated  at  this  girl's  inoppor- 
tune appearance,  at  her  pertness  and  assurance,  and  at 
Cotton's  readiness  to  get  rid  of  her.  Refusing  his  offer 
curtly,  she  watched  the  two  go  off  together,  remarking 
perforce  that  despite  his  exceeding  awkwardness,  the 
finest  gentleman  she  had  ever  seen  wasn't  more  truly 
courteous  than  Caleb  Cotton. 

For  herself,  she  returned  to  her  rooms  and  bullied  Miss 
Lancaster.  Later  in  the  day,  regaining  her  ordinary 
humor,  she  told  her  companion  something  of  these  two 
meetings  with  Cotton.  Of  Miss  Melendy,  she  said  that 
she  was  rather  good-looking  in  a  crude,  bizarre  fashion, 
that  she  dressed  absurdly,  burred  her  r's  outrageously, 
and  was  on  the  whole  rather  a  gawk. 


CHAPTER   IX 

The  Burgess  party  were  leaving  Paris  next  day,  Mrs. 
Manners  and  her  companion  traveling  first  class,  the 
others  second.  Erica  sat  alone  in  the  little  graveled 
garden.  It  was  early  and  the  midday  heat  intense;  but 
apparently  every  one  was  making  the  most  of  the  last 
afternoon,  even  Miss  Lancaster  being  out  with  Miss 
Cameron  and  Miss  Budd. 

Erica's  face  seemed  to  have  grown  sharp  within  the 
past  fortnight;  and  there  was  a  shadow  as  of  ill-nature 
upon  it  that  was  new  to  it.  For  up  to  the  time  she  had 
brought  the  libel  against  her  husband.  Erica  had  been 
almost  uniformly  good  humored  —  cynically,  carelessly 
so,  indeed,  yet  truly  so.  Caustic  of  tongue,  fond  of  irony, 
not  gentle  nor  generous  nor  considerate,  she  had  pre- 
served, nevertheless,  enough  of  the  gay  good  temper  of 
childhood  to  sugar-coat  her  selfishness,  and  render  her  a 
charming  companion.  Hardened  as  she  was,  however, 
the  death  of  her  husband  had  nevertheless  been  a  shock 
to  her.  Her  irritability  had  increased  progressively  and 
at  this  time  she  was  on  the  very  verge  of  shrewishness. 
During  the  fortnight  she  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Burgess  party,  little  as  she  had  mingled  with  the  others, 
she  had  made  herself  as  disagreeable  as  only  a  thoroughly 
spoiled  and  utterly  selfish  person,  with  such  an  increment 
of  irritability,  can  be;  and  she  had  so  constantly  bullied 
Miss  Lancaster  that  that  long-suffering  creature  had  all 
but  wished  herself  back  in  the  United  States  working 
hard  at  a  bona  fide  case. 

87 


88  FIREWEED 

It  was  cooler  in  her  pretty  chintz  bedroom  with  the 
great  casements  than  here  in  the  garden.  But  Erica  had 
felt  she  could  not  endure  being  alone  inside  another 
moment.  Now,  however,  a  greater  weariness  yet 
swooped  down  upon  her.  She  bowed  her  head  in  her 
hand  with  a  gesture  of  utter  despair.  Then  she  raised 
it  quickly.  Never  again  could  she  assume  that  pose 
without  remembering  Alex  as  he  had  sat  in  the  court- 
room with  his  blue-white,  melancholy  face. 

How  could  she  ever  go  on  like  this,  —  bored  to  death 
from  morning  to  night ;  aching,  restless,  nearly  mad  from 
night  to  morning?  Why,  in  heaven's  name,  should  she 
drag  herself  over  Europe  when  there  was  nothing  on  the 
continent  that  she  cared  twopence  to  see?  And  yet  — 
what  was  there  to  do  otherwise  ?  She  couldn't  go  home : 
she  couldn't  yet  endure  all  the  sickening  associations  of 
that  nightmare  trial.  Neither  did  she  care  to  stay  in 
Paris  nor  return  to  England.  There  was  nothing  for  her 
in  the  old  world  nor  the  new. 

Still,  she  didn't  want  to  die.  Good  God !  she  was  only 
twenty-eight,  and  she  had  hardly  begun  to  live.  Some- 
thing would  happen.  Something  must  happen.  She  sup- 
posed it  must  have  been  the  shock  of  seeing  Cotton  that 
had  brought  everything  back  and  was  behind  this  nervous 
wretchedness.  It  would  pass,  and  she  would  be  herself 
again,  restless  still,  as  always,  but  not  so  damned  restless. 

It  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  not  had  the  ill 
luck  to  stumble  upon  Caleb  Cotton ;  but  since  that  had  hap- 
pened, it  would  have  been  better  if  she  could  have  seen 
more  of  him.  Erica  felt  that  if  she  could  have  carried 
out  her  purpose  of  explaining  certain  things  to  him,  she 
would  now  be  easier  in  mind.  But  the  man  had  avoided 
her.  Apparently  he  was  afraid  of  her.  It  might  be,  of 
course,  that  he  believed  her  quite  too  wicked  for  the 
like  of  him  and  his  angel  daughter;  but  Erica  believed 


FIREWEED  89 

that  he  feared  to  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that  he  had 
wronged  her.  He  acted  as  if  he  were  bound  not  to  come 
in  contact  with  any  extenuating  circumstances. 

Nevertheless,  she  would  force  him  to,  she  cried  out, 
clenching  her  hands.  She  could  only  rid  herself  of  this 
terrible  obsession  of  weariness  and  restlessness  by  setting 
herself  right  with  him.  But  that  having  been  accom- 
plished, she  did  not  care  if  she  never  saw  him  again. 

Erica  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
She  said  to  herself  she  would  manage  to  see  him  very 
soon,  and  then  she  wondered  where  he  was  to-day.  Prob- 
ably he  would  be  revisiting  some  shrine  or  another,  sen- 
timentalizing over  some  dead-and-gone  sinner.  One 
might  conclude  from  his  attitude  towards  Marie-Antoi- 
nette and  Napoleon  that  he  had  started  in  quest  of  those 
who  had  gone  wrong  through  ambition,  in  order  to  shed 
tears  over  their  fate  —  their  just  deserts,  when  all  was 
said.  Why  should  he  so  go  out  of  his  way  to  be  char- 
itable to  them,  and  yet  —  oh,  he  would  say,  of  course, 
that  they  had  suffered.  Good  God!  and  hadn't  she  suf- 
fered? 

Ah,  but  that  wasn't  all  —  to  his  mind.  He  had  reit- 
erated his  jargon  about  learning  one's  lesson.  Erica  won- 
dered just  what  he  meant.  The  words  themselves  were 
plain  enough;  but  somehow,  he  had  interpretations  of 
his  own.  Or  was  he  so  painfully  honest  that  he  went 
to  the  very  roots  of  words  just  as  he  did  of  things  and 
used  them  in  their  exact  meanings,  which  made  him  speak 
another  language  from  other  people  —  Erica  Manners 
among  them? 

On  a  sudden  it  came  to  her  that  she  would  go  back  to 
the  Carnavalet  and  look  again  at  the  sketch  of  La  Veuve 
Capet  hanging  over  the  poor  bed.  Perhaps  she  might 
gain  inspiration  from  the  sad  portrait.  Inspiration  for 
what,  pray?  she  demanded  of  herself.     Did  she.  Erica 


90  FIREWEED 

Ericson  Manners,  want  to  know  the  secret  of  Marie- 
Antoinette's  life  lesson  that  she  might  con  her  own? 
Nonsense !  she  wasn't  so  low  as  that.  It  was  only  that 
she  had  to  do  something  to  pass  this  terribly  long  after- 
noon, lest  she  go  mad,  and  it  might  as  well  be  that  means 
as  another. 

On  her  way  to  her  room  to  get  her  hat,  gloves  and 
sunshade,  she  ordered  a  motor  cab.  With  all  her  swift- 
ness, it  was  ready  when  she  got  to  the  door,  and  she 
experienced  a  novel  sense  of  gratification  as  she  was 
whirled  and  trundled  through  the  hot  streets.  She  won- 
dered why  she  had  not  returned  to  the  Musee  before. 
An  odd  little  dimple  that  hardly  appeared  twice  a  year 
twinkled  in  her  thin  cheek  as  she  realized  that  she  was 
rejoicing  in  what  she  had  characterized  as  the  height  of 
banality  in  others  —  visiting  this  shrine  or  that  as  a  last 
rite  before  leaving  Paris. 

Turning  into  the  rue  de  Sevigne,  Erica's  heart  grew 
cold  as  she  saw  Caleb  Cotton  and  his  daughter  coming 
from  the  gallery  deep  in  conversation,  the  girl  hanging 
on  his  arm  in  true  eighteenth  century  fashion.  Had  she 
been  ten,  even  five  minutes  earlier,  she  might  have  caught 
them  inside. 

Her  own  zest  was  completely  gone;  but  she  hoped  if 
she  dragged  herself  upstairs  she  might  revive  a  portion 
of  it.  Instead,  she  experienced  another  emotion.  Fierce 
anger  seized  her  as  she  found  the  Musee  closed. 

She  might  have  known!  Cotton  wouldn't  be  coming 
away  unless  he  had  been  driven.  Raging  at  the  stupidity 
of  closing  a  public  gallery  at  this  hour  of  the  afternoon, 
Erica  berated  the  chauflFeur  in  good  idiomatic  French  for 
not  warning  her.  The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
made  irrelevant  remarks,  and  considered  himself  for- 
tunate in  being  ordered  to  drive  his  fare  back  to  the  hotel 
in  the  rue  St.  Honore. 


FIREWEED  91 

Erica's  anger  was  not  cooled  by  the  fact  that  Miss 
Lancaster  was  still  absent.  Determined  that  when  she 
should  come,  she  should  not  linger  in  the  garden  for  tea 
and  gossip  as  she  was  likely  to  do,  she  went  out  so  as  to 
be  at  hand  to  intercept  her. 

Without  warning,  she  came  upon  Nancy  Cotton  who 
had  come  to  the  garden  to  wait  for  Miss  Melendy.  Nancy 
had  avoided  Mrs.  Manners  more  sedulously  and  more 
conspicuously  than  her  father  had  done ;  and  on  a  sudden, 
at  sight  of  her,  Erica's  anger  became  savage.  She  had  an 
irresistible  impulse  to  punish  the  self-righteous  little  chit. 

"  Won't  you  come  over  here,  Miss  Cotton,"  she  asked 
in  a  tone  that  made  it  a  command.  "  I  want  to  sit  near 
the  entrance  in  order  to  catch  my  companion." 

Nancy  complied  politely,  and  even  in  her  rage  Erica 
acknowledged  the  fiawlessness  of  her  type.  She  was  not 
handsome,  not  beautiful  —  hardly  —  but  for  her  particu- 
lar type,  she  was  perfect.  There  wasn't  a  blemish.  Even 
her  clothes  didn't  belie  her.  Her  white  frock  suited  her 
as  if  it  had  been  made  for  her  at  the  best  shop  in  Paris, 
or  as  if  it  had  been  designed  for  a  character  on  the  stage 
who  represented  just  what  this  girl  was.  How  could  it 
be?  Had  the  girl  such  natural  grace  that  she  carried  oil 
anything  and  everything?  And  she  the  daughter  of  a 
man  who  was,  when  all  was  said,  a  blob ! 

"Are  you  as  sentimental  about  leaving  Paris,  Miss 
Cotton,  as  the  others  seem  to  be  ?  "  she  inquired  care- 
lessly. 

"  It  will  be  —  nice  to  see  Switzerland  and  Italy,"  Nancy 
returned  evasively. 

Erica  caught  the  undertone  of  resignation  or  pain  in 
the  sweet  young  voice;  but  she  only  fixed  the  girl  more 
coldly  with  her  critical  gaze. 

"  You  like  traveling  with  a  party  ?"  she  almost  sneered. 

Nancy  was  partly  shaded  by  the  little  fig  tree,  her 


92  FIREWEED 

white  gown  dappled  with  shadows  of  leaves,  her  pale 
brown  hair  turning  to  gold  in  the  sunlight.  As  she  smiled 
wanly,  she  might  have  suggested  images  she  was  con- 
stantly suggesting  to  others  as  they  moved  among  asso- 
ciations of  the  romantic  past;  but  her  purity  and  inno- 
cence, enhanced  by  that  mysterious  but  unmistakable  sad- 
ness, only  irritated  Mrs.  Manners  further. 

"  I  like  it  ever  so  much,  Mrs.  Manners,  they  are  all  so 
very  nice,"  Nancy  returned  with  something  of  her  father's 
scrupulous  regard  for  detail. 

What  forced  enthusiasm!  Erica  decided  that  the  girl 
was  as  bored  as  she  herself  was,  only  smothered  in  her 
own  virtue.  Little  Nanny  didn't  care  twopence  for  Italy 
or  Switzerland  or  the  Greek  Archipelago! 

"  You  really  think  so !"  she  remarked.  "  Surely,  Miss 
Cotton,  you  don't  include  that  impossible  Mrs.  Miles? 
Can  you  stand  her  ?  " 

Nancy  flushed  sensitively.  Her  soft  brown  eyes  opened 
very  wide.  Erica  was  amused  to  perceive  that  the  girl 
thought  she  had  blundered. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  we  like  Mrs.  Miles  particularly, 
pap  —  my  father  and  I !  "  she  cried.  "  She's  our  old 
friend  and  comes  from  our  dear  old  home  back  in  In- 
diana. She  talks  and  is  just  like  all  the  home  people. 
And,  oh,  she's  —  right  sweet." 

As  the  girl  ceased,  she  clasped  her  thin  hands  over  her 
knees.  A  tinge  of  color  lingered  in  her  cheeks ;  but  her 
eyes  were  soft  and  appealing. 

"  As  for  me,"  drawled  Erica  —  and  her  words  were 
like  impaling  a  butterfly  for  sport  —  "I  could  perhaps 
put  up  with  everything  else  if  she  weren't  so  blooming 
fat  under  her  ears.  Have  you  noticed  how  her  funny 
little  lobes  are  propped  straight  out  at  right  angles  by 
the  plumpness  underneath?  They're  like  little  corner 
brackets,  don't  you  know  ?  " 


FIREWEED  93 

Shocked  and  pained  beyond  expression,  Nancy  threw 
a  quick,  helpless  glance  about  her  to  see  if  there  were  any 
relief  in  sight.  Erica  read  the  glance  and  decided  to 
punish  the  girl  further  for  it.  If  any  one  had  asked  her 
at  the  moment  why,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  if  she 
truly  desired  to  correct  the  unfavorable  impression  she 
had  made  upon  the  father,  she  should  thus  deliberately 
wound  and  outrage  the  daughter,  she  could  not  have 
answered.  It  was  probably  because  she  had  always 
yielded  to  her  every  impulse  and  whim,  and  her  impulse 
at  this  moment  to  get  even  with  the  girl  before  her  made 
her  oblivious  of  all  else. 

"  However,  it's  mighty  fortunate  it's  no  worse.  Sup- 
pose, for  instance,  her  ears  were  as  large  as  Miss  Wil- 
liams's?" she  went  on.  "Did  you  ever  see  such  enor- 
mous ears  as  that  woman  has  —  regular  flappers !  I 
don't  see  how  she  gets  lappets  big  enough  to  cover  them 
in  winter,  and  yet  she  couldn't  leave  all  that  surface 
exposed.  Poor  old  thing !  it's  rather  hard  that  she  should 
have  crooked  teeth  into  the  bargain ! " 

While  she  rattled  on.  Erica  Manners  was  conscious  of 
immense  relief.  In  truth,  she  disburdened  herself  of  an 
accumulation  of  pent-up  irritation;  and  she  hardly  knew 
how  her  savage  mood  welcomed  this  priggish  girl's  sen- 
sibility to  play  on  in  place  of  Miss  Lancaster's  hypocrisy. 
She  went  on  almost  gleefully,  holding  the  members  of  the 
party  up  to  ridicule,  one  by  one,  giving  Nancy  no  oppor- 
tunity whatever  to  protest  or  defend. 

What  she  did  wasn't  at  all  difficult;  it  wouldn't  have 
taxed  the  ingenuity  of  a  far  less  clever  person  than  she. 
Furthermore,  it  would  have  puzzled  her  to  say  why  she 
should  be  at  such  pains  to  shock  this  bread-and-butter 
miss,  who  had,  most  likely,  only  obeyed  orders  in  fighting 
shy  of  her.  And  truly,  when  Erica  recalled  it  afterwards, 
it  seemed  as  if  some  fiend  had  possessed  her. 


94  FIREWEED 

After  Mrs.  Miles  and  Miss  Williams,  Mrs.  Manners 
attacked  the  others,  —  even  unoffending  little  Mrs.  Bur- 
gess, whom  she  had  scarcely  seen.  She  shot  her  pointed 
arrows  at  them  all,  and  the  missiles  lodged  in  Nancy  Cot- 
ton's gentle  heart.  And  yet,  all  that  went  before  was  as 
nothing  when  Erica  finally  came  to  Miss  Melendy.  She 
spoke  with  such  heat  —  almost  venom,  it  was  —  that 
Nancy  scarcely  endured  the  onslaught. 

"  It's  all  so  pitifully  absurd,  too,"  Erica  concluded. 
"  What  with  her  dickeys  and  cravats  and  waistcoats 
and  all  her  sham  masculine  flummery,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  to  be  making  eyes  at  the  men  and  phil- 
andering as  she  does.  It  only  marks  her  out  the 
more  clearly  for  just  what  she  is  —  a  lovesick  young 
woman ! " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  must  think  you  are  wrong  —  ter- 
ribly wrong ! "  cried  Nancy  with  mantling  cheeks  and 
mournfully  incredulous  eyes.  "  It's  no  such  thing !  Par- 
don me,  but  truly,  it  is  not  so — ^not  in  the  least.  Why 
every  one  just  loves  Hank.  The  party  wouldn't  be  the 
same  at  all  without  her.  Father  admires  her  like  he 
never  cared  for  any  of  my  friends  before,  and  besides  he 
likes  her  as  well  as  if  she  were  as  old  as  he.  Of  course, 
she  is  rather  a  Tom-boy,  but  every  one  likes  it  in  Hank. 
Pap  —  father  does.  He'd  have  liked  me  to  be  a  Tom- 
boy, but  I  have  always  been  more  like  his  mother,  so  old 
and  quiet,  you  know.  But  she  —  Miss  Melendy,  can  talk 
horses  and  fishing  with  him,  and  can  drive  a  pair  and 
milk  a  cow,  and  —  oh,  she  has  even  traded  horses  just 
like  pa  —  my  father.     And  one  night  —  " 

Nancy  stopped  short,  —  not  because  it  was  an  unusually 
long  speech  for  her  —  the  longest,  certainly  within  the 
year  —  but  because  she  heard  the  clock  strike  the  hour 
at  which  Miss  Melendy  was  to  meet  her  in  the  garden. 
And  in  truth  Hank  entered  with  the  last  stroke. 


FIREWEED  95 

She  came  straight  to  Nancy  and  read  much  of  the 
record  in  the  girl's  flushed,  distressed  face. 

"  Afternoon,  Mrs.  Manners,"  she  said  curtly,  then 
turned  to  Nancy. 

"  Here  we  are,  honey,  what's  left  of  us,"  she  remarked, 
perching  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  next  Nancy's  with  her 
stout,  laced  boys'  boots  braced  firmly  on  the  gravel. 

"  Such  larks  you  never  heard,"  she  went  on,  "  do  listen 
while  I  tell  you,  honey-bunch." 

Mrs.  Manners  continued  to  fix  her  with  a  critical, 
haughty  stare,  but  Miss  Melendy  was  apparently  unaware 
of  her  presence  and  rattled  away.  Even  though  she  were 
a  bit  absurd,  as  Mrs.  Manners  had  pronounced  her.  Miss 
Melendy  was  truly  a  piquant  figure.  And  even  though 
her  masculine  fashion  of  attire  were  a  bit  forced,  it 
wasn't  ungraceful  nor  unbecoming.  To-day  she  wore 
a  white  linen  suit,  the  loose  Norfolk  jacket  of  which 
abounded  in  pockets  (some  of  which  rather  bulged),  a 
white  shirt  with  stiff  collar  and  cuffs,  a  white  cravat  and 
a  Panama  hat  which  resembled  the  one  Cotton  was  never 
seen  without,  except  it  was  fresher  and  smarter.  Her 
only  ornaments  were  a  watch  chain  with  heavy  seals,  a 
scarf  pin  and  a  seal  ring. 

She  looked  very  young,  —  rather  childish,  indeed,  or 
boyish  —  was  slender  with  an  healthy  leanness  and  not 
tall  enough  to  be  conspicuous.  Her  dark  brown  hair, 
parted  at  the  side  and  rolled  into  a  knob  at  her  neck,  was 
soft  in  texture  as  in  shade,  not  quite  straight  and  grew 
low  and  attractively  about  her  brow.  Her  brown  eyes 
were  not  large  but  deep,  honest  and  indicative  of  reserve 
strength.  Her  skin  was  brown  with  a  dusky  gipsy  color 
in  her  cheeks,  and  her  face,  round  without  being  plump, 
with  charming  boyish  dimples,  was  so  honest  and  fair 
and  ingenuous  that  the  boyish  costume  really  suited  it 
strangely.    Erica  Manners  felt  all  this  though  against 


96  FIREWEED 

her  will;  for  she  had  conceived  a  violent  antipathy  to 
this  girl. 

"  Such  a  lark ! "  repeated  Miss  Melendy,  removing  her 
hat,  which  required  no  pins  but  fitted  her  head  like  a 
man's.  "  We  were  crossing  the  street  down  yonder,  the 
bunch  of  us,  —  the  whole  damn  bunch  as  Dr.  Burgess 
would  put  it  —  coming  from  the  Palais  Royal  and  headed 
for  the  Louvre  for  last  farewells  of  our  respective 
steadies  when  we  discovered  we  had  lost  Mrs.  Miles. 
Your  father  —  " 

Mrs.  Manners  rose  with  intentional  rudeness, 

"  I  see  that  my  nurse  has  come  back  at  last.  Miss 
Cotton,"  she  remarked,  haughtily,  "  and  I'd  best  get  hold 
of  her  if  I  want  any  massage  before  dinner.  She's  so 
taken  up  with  strangers  that  I  don't  get  much  attention 
myself  of  late." 

"  I  trust  you  may  get  a  good  rub  down  to-night,  I'm 
sure,"  remarked  Miss  Melendy,  partly  to  cover  Nancy's 
dumbness,  partly  because  she  disliked  Mrs.  Manners  quite 
as  much  as  the  latter  disliked  her,  only  less  personally, 
and  was  glad  of  a  chance  to  "  come  back  at  her  "  as  she 
remarked  to  the  younger  girl  afterwards. 

"  Good  Lord !  Good  riddance  over  and  over ! "  she 
cried  the  moment  Mrs.  Manners's  graceful  figure  dis- 
appeared, "  Isn't  that  woman  the  limit  of  limits !  Her 
nurse,  indeed!  Her  poor  old  toady!  The  only  reason 
any  of  us  endure  her  is  because  we  can't  help  being 
sorry  for  her.  She's  certainly  less  impossible  than  her 
boss." 

Nancy  did  not  mention  the  tirade  she  had  just  heard. 
She  and  her  father  had  agreed  not  to  speak  of  Mrs.  Man- 
ners's history  as  they  knew  it;  and  she  felt  that  Hank 
was  sufficiently  antagonistic  towards  the  lady  as  it  was. 
Neither  did  she  say  aught  to  her  father  of  the  terrible 
half  hour  m  the  garden.    But  thereafter  the  girl  had  a 


FIREWEED  97 

positive  dread  of  coming  in  contact  with  the  woman, 
avoiding  ever  being  alone  in  any  public  room  or  gather- 
ing place.  And  the  mystery  of  Philip  Stokes's  caring 
for  such  an  one  became  the  deeper  as  it  became  the  more 
painful. 

After  Nancy  had  gone  to  her  room,  Miss  Melendy  went 
out  again.  And  again  as  she  stood  before  the  Luxem- 
bourg Gallery  and  gazed  upon  the  shivering  lovers,  she 
was  thinking  mournfully  of  Nancy  and  her  mystery. 
Returning  to  the  hotel,  she  overtook  Miss  Little,  who  had 
been  adding  to  her  huge  collection  of  trinkets. 

"  What  does  Little  Mary  think  of  the  new  member  of 
the  menagerie  ?  "  she  asked. 

Miss  Little  laughed  merrily.  But  to-day  her  high  color 
was  too  deep  for  any  heightening. 

"About  the  same  as  she  thinks  of  the  rest  of  the 
bunch,  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  returned.  "  She  hasn't 
much  use  for  us;  but  as  long  as  she  keeps  her  distance, 
it  doesn't  make  any  great  difference.  We  can  get  along 
without  her  royal  favor.  Some  of  us  were  rather  wor- 
ried for  fear  she  might  monopolize  Mr.  Cotton.  That 
would  have  been  tragic,  don't  you  know.  Hank  dear.  But 
she  doesn't  seem  even  to  be  interested  in  him.  And  he 
never  goes  out  of  his  way  to  speak  to  her,  as  he  would 
have  to  do  if  he  wanted  to.  I  rather  wonder  what  doctor 
thinks  of  her.'* 

She  laughed. 

"  If  you  ask  my  opinion,"  remarked  Miss  Melendy 
emphatically,  "  I  should  say  that  good  as  the  old  duck  is, 
for  once  he's  bitten  off  more  than  he  can  chew ! " 

"  Oh,  Hank!  "  cried  Miss  Little,  "  Oh,  Hank,  Hank!  " 
and  went  laughingly  on  her  way  to  her  room. 


CHAPTER  X 

Arriving  in  very  midsummer,  the  Burgess  party  never- 
theless found  Florence  a  pleasant,  breezy  city  where  one 
could  draw  a  long  breath  after  the  heat  of  those  last  days 
in  Paris.  The  garden  of  the  Pensione  Magenta,  just  back 
from  the  Amo  on  the  Via  Magenta,  was  an  inviting,  almost 
a  "  lovesome  "  spot  on  this,  the  hot  hour  of  the  after- 
noon, though  it  was  occupied  by  only  one  person.  Even 
at  the  hour  commonly  devoted  to  siestas,  the  garden  was 
seldom  so  nearly  deserted :  for  the  pension  was  large, 
exceedingly  comfortable,  and  very  well  conducted,  and 
was  commonly  filled  with  tourists  with  quarters  engaged 
weeks  in  advance.  It  was  only  that,  in  the  interval 
between  the  departure  directly  after  luncheon  of  a  goodly 
nimiber  of  guests  moving  on  to  Rome  or  Venice  and  the 
arrival  of  as  many  more  to-night  and  on  the  morrow, 
both  palace  and  garden  were  wholly  at  the  disposal  of 
the  Burgess  party  and  quiet  reigned  over  all. 

A  very  high  wall  shut  the  garden  from  the  quiet  street, 
the  old  palace  and  its  wings  enclosing  the  other  three 
sides.  Shutters  were  lowered  at  all  the  windows  and  the 
only  sound  that  came  out  was  an  occasional  strain  from 
an  opera  in  a  sweet  baritone  from  the  kitchen. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  garden,  a  great  orange  tree, 
trained  upon  a  lattice  close  against  the  stone  wall  of  one 
of  the  wings,  was  a  mass  of  dark,  glossy  green  foliage 
with  great,  deep-colored,  pendent  fruit  at  the  top.  Out- 
lined against  this  pre-Raphaelite  background,   was  the 

98 


FIREWEED  99 

figure  of  a  slender  girl  in  white  with  fawn-colored  hair 
crowning  a  proud  little  head  and  an  air  of  distinction 
about  her.  At  once  haughty  and  sad,  the  small,  delicate 
face  recalled  portraits  in  the  Florentine  galleries  down 
yonder,  of  Italian  princesses  in  the  brave  days  of  the 
duchies,  and  other  high-born  ladies.  And  though  of  a 
truth  it  was  rather  restlessness  and  egotistic  discontent 
than  sorrow  which  had  molded  these  lineaments,  curiously 
enough  the  face  was  more  akin  to  the  saintly  countenances 
than  to  those  of  such  princesses  as  had  been  adepts  at 
poison,  and  had  no  scruple  against  even  more  brutal 
methods  of  getting  rid  of  rivals  or  other  burdensome 
folk.  And  the  little  red  leather  volume  in  the  motionless 
white  hands  might  well  have  been  a  missal  or  book  of 
days. 

Just  as  a  particularly  fine  bit  of  melody  rang  out  from 
the  basement  upon  the  quiet  air,  some  one  came  through 
the  house  and  halted  on  a  little  balcony  before  descending 
the  steps  into  the  garden,  listening  until  the  last  notes 
died  away.  Then,  evidently  assuming  the  place  to  be 
empty,  the  newcomer,  who  had  exceedingly  long  legs, 
stretched  his  arms  along  the  balustrade  and  took  the 
whole  flight  at  one  leap. 

Surely  there  was  nothing  else  like  that  lank,  awkward, 
over-tall  figure,  in  living  being,  picture  or  statue  in  all 
Italy;  it  should,  however,  have  been  familiar  long  since 
to  every  member  of  the  party  in  possession  of  the  palace 
at  the  present  hour.  None  the  less,  Erica  Manners, 
glancing  up  from  her  book,  started  and  opened  her  eyes 
wide  in  wonderment.  But  perhaps  what  surprised  her 
was  that  she  believed  Caleb  Cotton  to  be  seeking  her  out 
voluntarily.  For  they  had  not  met  since  they  had  parted 
at  the  Tomb  of  Napoleon.  She  smiled  a  welcome  that 
quite  transfigured  her  face  and  amazed  Cotton,  who  did. 
not  see  her  until  he  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat. 


lOO  FIREWEED 

She  moved  gracefully  to  offer  him  a  place  on  the 
wicker  bench  beside  her. 

"  I  am  surely  glad  to  see  some  one  at  last,"  she  said  with 
charming  candor,  quite  as  if  she  were  a  genuine  instead 
of  an  honorary  member  of  the  party.  "  I  have  given 
myself  what  my  old  nurse  used  to  call  the  '  magrums ' 
reading  poetry  out  here  in  the  deathly  stillness." 

Caleb  Cotton  seated  himself  deliberately.  He  was  sur- 
prised at  her  cordiality;  but  he  considered  her  a  finished 
woman  of  the  world,  and  decided  that,  having  found  the 
other  members  of  the  party  agreeable  to  her  (he  consid- 
ered them  a  wonderful  group)  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  tolerate  his  presence  when  she  found  it  necessary. 
Even  so,  he  would  never  have  considered  her  capable  of 
such  sweetness  not  only  of  voice,  but  of  manner  and 
expression. 

"I  wonder  if  you  care  for  poetry,  Mr.  Cotton?"  she 
inquired  gently. 

"  Well,  yes'm,  I  may  say  that  I  do,"  he  returned,  imme- 
diately yielding  her  what  he  proffered  every  one,  his 
whole  attention  and  the  tribute  of  the  exact  truth,  —  the 
best  that  was  in  him. 

"  You  would  hardly  think  it  from  my  look  and  bearing," 
he  went  on  with  a  certain  drollness  that  made  his  humility 
charming,  "  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  powerfully  fond 
of  it.  Many  a  time  I  have  neglected  my  duty  and  had 
to  sit  up  till  nearly  morning  because  I  had  forgotten 
everything  poring  over  some  poetry  book.  And  to  this 
day,  I  glance  at  every  poem  I  come  across  in  the  news- 
papers for  fear  of  missing  something  good.  Now  there's 
'  Snow  Bound,'  —  I'm  particularly  fond  of  that.  Do  you 
care  for  it  ?  " 

"  M  —  m,  rather,"  she  responded  vaguely,  as  if  she 
hardly  understood.  His  very  unlikeness  to  those  with 
whom   she  had   formerly   discussed  the   belles   lettres, 


FIREWEED  loi 

brought  back  vivid  memories  of  the  trial  which  she  had 
for  once  forgotten  while  in  his  presence.  But  he  was, 
as  usual,  wholly  absorbed  in  the  present. 

"  And  Paradise  Lost  ?  "  he  added  interrogatively  eager. 
"  That's  really  what  I  started  on,  after  my  mother's 
hymns  and  songs.  When  I  first  left  home  I  worked  for 
a  man  named  Haynes  —  old  Col.  Haynes  of  Buckeye 
County.  He  had  what  seemed  to  me  then  a  power  of 
books  and  I  had  the  run  of  them.  Among  them  was 
Paradise  Lost,  a  great  handsome  volume  with  full-page 
pictures.  Not  that  I  set  any  great  store  by  the  pictures, 
—  the  angels'  wings  were  too  skinny,  according  to  my 
way  of  thinking  —  more  like  bats' ;  but  I  took  to  the 
poetry  and  was  interested  in  the  doctrine.  I  got  so  I 
knew  whole  pages  by  heart." 

For  a  brief  space  he  lost  himself  in  retrospect,  Erica 
gazing  at  him  the  while  through  lowered  lashes.  At  the 
moment,  it  was  borne  in  on  her  that  a  plain,  yes,  an 
ugly  face  is  the  best  medium  for  showing  fineness  of 
expression.  And  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  might 
have  discovered  that  fact  from  Delia  Holbrook. 

On  a  sudden  he  smiled  —  or  nearly  smiled  —  out  of 
his  reverie. 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  poem  I  have  always  liked,"  he  remarked 
with  that  eagerness  which  is  rather  the  reaching  out  for 
intellectual  sympathy  than  a  personal  appeal,  "  and  that 
is  '  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night.'  Don't  you  consider 
that  a  fine  poem,  ma'am?" 

Erica  wanted  to  laugh.  She  didn't  know  when  she 
had  had  such  a  natural  impulse  towards  simple  mirth 
without  bitterness  or  cynicism.  Now  she  forgot  who  he 
was,  except  that  he  was  like  a  big,  awkward,  sweet-tem- 
pered puppy  to  whom  one's  heart  goes  out  in  spite  of 
oneself. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  know  only  the  name,"  she  confessed 


\ 


I02  FIREWEED 

with  an  odd  little  pucker  of  her  lips  that  indented  her 
rare  dimple.  "  I  know  it  was  very  popular  at  one  time. 
I'll  look  it  up." 

"  You've  got  something  before  you,"  he  declared  quite 
as  if  he  had  been  speaking  of  a  masterpiece  of  Brown- 
ing's or  Swinburne's.  "  It's  certainly  a  stirring  thing. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  the  girls  used  to  recite  at  church 
sociables.  Abby  Manning,  who  is  now  our  valued  house- 
keeper, used  to  give  it  wonderfully.  I  remember  one 
night  in  particular.  She  wore  a  red  merino  dress  that 
night  —  she  had  brown  curls  hanging  over  her  shoulders 
and  red  cheeks  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars.  We  were 
all  more  or  less  familiar  with  '  Curfew,'  but  we  didn't 
mind  that,  —  books  weren't  so  common  in  the  West  of 
that  time  nor  learning  so  general.  Anyhow,  we  fellows 
in  the  back  seat  just  sat  spellbound.  And  when  Abby 
came  out  with  the  last  line  —  flung  out  her  arms  wide  and 
came  out  strong  with  *  "  Go,  your  lover  lives,"  cried 
Cromwell,  "  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night !  " '  why,  we 
didn't  dass  look  at  one  another  for  fear  of  —  " 

His  long  lips  were  puckered  comically.  His  eyes,  full 
of  a  droll  naivete,  met  hers  and  Erica  could  not  resist. 
She  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

He  smiled  in  his  big,  kindly  way. 

"  It  was  funny,"  he  owned,  "  we  great  hulking  lads 
there  on  the  back  seat,  our  ankles  and  wrists  outstretching 
our  pantaloons  and  jacket  sleeves,  our  hair  wet  and  slick, 
not  venturing  to  glance  sidewise  because  of  that  slip  of  a 
red-cheeked  girl  in  scarlet  merino  reciting  moving  poetry." 

"  I  really  want  to  read  it  awfully,"  said  Erica  gently, 
"and  —  I  like  the  idea  of  those  big  boys.  I  suppose  — 
you  were  the  tallest?" 

"  Oh  yes'm,  and  the  awkwardest  of  the  squad.  The 
reason  I  remember  that  particular  evening  was  because 
Charley  Tuck  who  sat  beside  me  was  sweet  on  Abby, 


FIREWEED  103 

as  we  used  to  say.  He  died  that  very  year,  come  spring, 
and  she  never  married." 

He  glanced  off  into  space.  And  afterwards  looking 
back,  she  understood  the  connection  between  that  scene 
and  his  next  suggestion. 

"  Then  there's  another,"  he  added  less  readily.  "  I 
think  most  likely  you  know  *  Backward,  turn  backward, 
O  Time  in  your  flight  ? '  "  Still  he  omitted  her  name, 
yet  the  courtesy  of  his  manner  and  the  deference  of  his 
really  beautiful  deep  voice  were  almost  equivalent  to 
"  your  grace,"  or  some  such  fair  address. 

"  Dear  me,  I've  got  to  confess  that  I  don't  know  that, 
either,"  she  said. 

"  That  was  my  wife's  favorite,"  he  observed  simply. 
"  I  used  to  read  it  over  and  over  again  to  her  until  I  got 
so  I  knew  it  by  heart  and  could  repeat  it  in  the  dark 
when  she  wanted  it.  She  was  an  invalid  for  many  years, 
and  such  things  soothed  her." 

Erica  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Do  you  know  it  now  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes'm,"  he  said.  He  hesitated,  then  added:  "In 
fact,  I  said  it  over  this  morning." 

Erica  frowned  unconsciously.  For  heaven's  sake! 
Did  the  man  repeat  it  every  morning  in  the  year  ?  she  asked 
herself.  Before  the  day  closed,  she  was  to  understand 
better.  She  seemed  to  speak  her  next  words  against  her 
will  —  or  against  something,  for  they  were  sincere. 

"  I'd  like  first  rate  to  hear  it.  I  wish  awfully  you 
felt  willing  to  say  it  over,"  she  begged. 

Even  at  that  critical  moment,  he  did  not  show  any 
self  consciousness.  Simple,  unashamed,  earnest,  with- 
out excuse  or  preliminary,  he  repeated  the  lines  in  his 
strong,  sweet,  vibrant  voice  —  a  voice  that  could  have 
transformed  the  merest  doggerel  to  poetry,  his  blue  eyes 
fixed  on  some  far-away  image. 


104  FIREWEED 

Erica  did  not  want  to  be  pleased.  She  wanted  to 
please,  it  is  true,  but  for  ulterior  purposes.  She  did  not 
yield  without  a  struggle.  She  tried  to  picture  to  herself 
how  screamingly  funny  it  would  be  to  narrate  to  Delia 
when  she  should  see  her  —  with  Phil  Stokes  in  the  back- 
ground, most  likely  —  how  this  long-shanks  Hoosier  had 
solemnly  repeated  "  Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  rock  me  to 
sleep,"  sitting  on  the  bench  in  the  Florentine  garden. 
She  recalled  how  the  three  of  them  had  laughed  —  howled 
—  to  read  in  a  recent  volume  of  memoirs  of  a  dinner 
party  in  Ireland  where  a  famous  member  of  parliament 
had  risen  and  recited  the  "  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus." 
This  was  still  funnier.  And  yet,  although  she  per- 
ceived the  humor,  the  utter  absurdity  of  the  situation,  she 
didn't  feel  it,  didn't  experience  it.  She  listened  in  very 
much  the  mood  of  those  boys  on  the  back  bench  at  the 
church  sociable.  And  when  Cotton  had  finished,  she 
thanked  him  with  real  gentleness. 

"  It  is  really  very  sweet,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she  added.  "  I'm 
awfully  glad  to  learn  of  it." 

He  seemed  gratified  by  her  reception  of  it,  but  he  was 
perhaps  rather  moved  himself.  At  any  rate,  when  he 
asked  her  what  she  was  reading,  it  seemed  by  way  of 
changing  the  subject. 

She  showed  him  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyham. 

"  I  haven't  looked  at  it  for  years.  I  was  rather  daffy 
over  it  at  one  time,  though,"  she  confessed.  "  Of  course 
you  know  it  ?  " 

"  No  ma'am,  I  have  heard  it  quoted,  but  I  never  had  it 
in  my  hand  to  read,"  he  said.  "  I  ought  to  have  said 
that  I  am  way  behind  the  times.  It's  partly  because  of 
reading  over  and  over  the  things  I  am  familiar  with,  and 
partly  because  I  meet  so  few  people  who  care  for  poetry." 

He  bethought  himself  just  as  he  would  have  said  that 
young  Stokes  cared  for  certain  poets.    And  his  face  was 


FIREWEED  105 

a  shade  graver  as  he  remarked :  "  You  would  be  shocked, 
I  daresay,  to  learn  that  I  never  read  Pope's  '  Essay  on 
Man  '  until  last  Thanksgiving." 

Erica,  who  had  felt  his  touch  of  hesitation,  forgot  it. 
She  had  to  smile. 

"  Oh  dear  me,  ho.  Lots  and  lots  of  people  haven't. 
But  you  would  like  Omar  no  end  better  than  Pope,  and 
really  he  holds  forth  on  the  same  subject.  Won't  you 
take  this,  please,  and  read  it  ?  " 

He  demurred  because  he  had  found  her  deep  in  it. 
She  insisted, 

"  I  know  the  most  of  it  by  heart,"  she  declared.  "  Be- 
sides, as  I  said,  it  makes  me  blue.  It's  absurd,  I  know, 
but  as  I  was  reading  the  lines 

*  And  that  same  summer  month  that  brings  the  rose 

Shall  take  Jamshyd  and  Kaikobad  away,' 

suddenly,  it  all  seemed  very  sad  —  as  if  one  couldn't 

have  it  so.     I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  who  or  what 

Jamshyd  or  Kaikobad  were,  but  —  I'm  sorry  for  them." 

Even  as  she  spoke.  Erica  became  almost  sickeningly 
aware  that  she  had  given  him  a  chance  to  make  a  nasty 
remark.  But  that  was  not  like  Caleb  Cotton.  He  smiled 
and  said  with  his  homely  gentleness :  "  You're  sorry  to 
have  the  rose  oust  them :  I  reckon  it's  that.  That's  human 
nature.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  all  spill  our  tears  over 
Jamshyds  and  Kaikobads,  and  then  avert  our  eyes  as  we 
drop  a  copper  into  a  beggar's  cup  and  hurry  away." 

Erica's  heart  began  to  beat  violently.  Until  within 
these  few  moments,  she  had  forgotten  everything  in  the 
present.  Now,  on  a  sudden,  it  came  to  her  that  here  was 
the  opportunity  —  heaven-sent  —  for  which  she  had 
waited  and  longed.  Now,  when  Caleb  Cotton  was  so 
kindly  disposed,  at  a  moment  when  she  wasn't  afraid  of 
him,  when,  too,  she  was  in  an  unusual  mood  wherein  she 
could  be  truer  to  herself  than  her  restlessness  would  often 


io6  FIREWEED 

allow  her  to  be,  circumstances  had  led  them,  unawares, 
to  a  point  of  beginning.  Now  it  would  be  simple  as 
never  before  and,  in  all  likelihood,  as  never  again.  She 
had  only  to  say :  "  See  here,  Mr.  Cotton,  after  all  I'm 
not  so  bad  as  you  thought  me.     It  was  like  this  —  " 

Oh,  but  how  could  she!  If  only  he  would  help  her. 
If  only  —     Raising  her  eyes  bravely,  she  began. 

"  But  Mr.  Cotton  —  " 

She  stopped  short.  The  light  died  out  of  her  eyes,  and 
something  quite  unlovely  displaced  it.  For,  at  that  very 
moment,  while  a  servant  approached  from  one  direction 
with  tea  and  cakes,  from  both  entrances  of  the  palace 
poured  forth  what  seemed  to  be  a  stream  of  people. 
Instead  of  straggling  in  by  ones  and  twos  in  their  wonted 
fashion,  it  seemed  to  Erica  Manners  as  if  the  whole 
Burgess  party  had  deliberately  formed  in  two  battalions 
to  storm  her  position.  Cotton  rose  as  they  flocked  to- 
wards him. 

The  man  would  have  placed  the  tea  things  before 
Erica,  but  she  motioned  him  away,  and  Mrs.  Burgess 
served  it.  After  handing  it  round.  Cotton  resumed  his 
place  beside  her.  For  no  one  had  ventured  to  sit  beside 
Mrs.  Manners  uninvited.  But  he  had  hardly  done  so 
when  Miss  Melendy  came  tearing  down  the  nearer  steps 
and  stood  before  him  with  scarlet  cheeks  and  eager  eyes. 
He  pushed  her  gently  into  his  seat  and  drew  up  a  rickety 
chair  and  sat  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  what  do  you  think?  "  the  girl  cried, 
while  the  eyes  of  all  excepting  Mrs.  Manners  rested  sym- 
pathetically, even  fondly  upon  her.  "  I've  found  a  Gari- 
baldi, a  perfect  stunner,  and  where  do  you  guess?  Right 
out  there  on  the  Arno  —  fancy !  Just  above  Americus's 
house,  you  know.  We  must  have  passed  it  half  a  dozen 
times !  " 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  singular,"  he  remarked,  partly  to 


FIREWEED  107 

her,  partly  to  the  interested  group.  "  That  certainly  is 
very  curious.  But  I  would  back  Miss  Melendy  to  dis- 
cover anything  anywhere  and  at  any  time." 

"  Bully  for  Hank !  "  cried  Mary  Little  with  her  custom- 
ary laugh. 

Cotton  turned  politely  to  Mrs.  Manners. 

"  We  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  statues  and  memo- 
rials of  all  sorts  connected  with  Garibaldi  ever  since  we 
struck  Italy,  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  explained ;  though  what 
she  noted  was  that  he  didn't  "  ma'am  "  her  before  others. 
"  But  you'd  be  greatly  surprised  —  or  you  would  be  if 
you  were  as  untraveled  as  Miss  Melendy  and  I  —  to  dis- 
cover how  very  rare  they  are,  at  least  so  far  as  we  have 
gone.  We  looked  for  'em  at  every  other  comer.  And 
now  to  think  of  Miss  Melendy 's  discovering  one  right 
out  yonder ! " 

"  And  in  his  poncho,  too ! "  cried  the  girl,  whose  eyes 
shone  as  if  she  had  found  a  gold  mine.  "  But  I  won't 
tell  you  more,  Mr.  Cotton." 

"  You  two  hero-worshipers  have  something  in  store  for 
to-morrow  when  we  go  up  to  Fiesole,"  remarked  Dr. 
Burgess  pleasantly.  "  You  will  open  your  eyes  wide 
when  you  get  into  the  public  square." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  what  is  it  ? "  Miss  Melendy  begged  to 
know. 

He  smiled.  "  Two  handsome  figures  mounted  on  two 
noble  chargers,"  he  replied  with  what  Erica  considered 
the  excess  of  smugness.  "  Victor  Emmanuel  clasping 
the  hand  of  Garibaldi." 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  could  ask  more,"  Cotton  ob- 
served.    "What  time  do  we  start.  Doctor?" 

"  Not  until  after  luncheon.  We  go  up  in  the  tram  and 
return  in  carriages  with  the  sunset." 

Dr.  Burgess  passed  his  cup  to  his  wife  to  be  refilled, 
and  she  gave  the  matter  her  undivided  attention.     With 


io8  FIREWEED 

the  others,  she  always  seemed  a  bit  distrait,  as  if  she  was 
longing  to  get  back  to  her  fancy  work  —  which  at  the 
moment  was  tatting.  But  when  she  filled  her  husband's 
cup  she  acted  as  if  she  believed  life  to  be  eminently  worth 
while.    And  she  always  lingered  long  over  that  brew. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  can  wait  if  we  must,  and  shall 
make  shift  to  piece  out  the  morning  somehow  or  other," 
Cotton  declared  drolly.  He  turned  to  his  left  hand 
neighbor. 

"  Take  your  tea,  Miss  Melendy,  and  then  if  you  are 
not  too  tired,  I  should  like  well  to  see  this  statue  right 
now.  Would  any  one  else  be  interested  ?  "  he  inquired, 
glancing  round.    "  How  should  you  feel,  Mrs.  Manners  ?  " 

To  his  surprise  —  for  his  opinion  of  her  was  under- 
going revision  —  she  refused  in  ungracious  fashion,  leav- 
ing the  impression  that  the  figure  was  insignificant  as  a 
work  of  art.  Miss  Budd  said  she  would  love  to  see  it, 
but  she  felt  constrained  to  favor  her  feet.  Miss  Williams 
was  eager  to  go  and  swallowed  her  tea  so  hastily  that  the 
tears  rose  to  her  eyes  and  blurred  the  thick  lenses  of  her 
glasses.  Maude  Griffiths,  too,  was  enthusiastic  in  her 
pretty  way,  and  the  four  set  off  gaily,  disappearing 
through  the  nearer  entrance  into  the  palace. 

Erica  sat  in  stony  silence  long  after  all  the  others  had 
left  the  garden.  Then  she  rose  and  went  listlessly  in. 
It  was  not  yet  nearly  time  to  dress  for  dinner  which  was 
at  eight,  and  after  wandering  about  a  little,  finding  the 
writing-room  empty,  she  dropped  into  a  chair  in  the  dim- 
mest comer  of  the  long  apartment,  and  gave  herself  up 
to  bewailing  —  or  rather,  cursing  —  her  ill  luck. 

This  was  the  second  time  that  impossible  Miss  Melendy 
had  bounced  in  upon  her,  —  Erica  wondered  if  she  hadn't 
done  it  purposely,  maliciously.  And  everything  had  been 
propitious  at  just  that  moment !  If  that  disgusting  posse 
hadn't  swooped  down,  she  might  at  this  instant  be  feeling 


FIREWEED  109 

calm  and  happy  and  satisfied  and  —  justified.  That  was 
all  she  wanted,  justification. 

At  seven,  Cotton  entered  the  room.  He  did  not  see 
her.  Seating  himself  at  one  of  the  writing-tables,  he 
took  something  from  his  pocket.  It  was  that  self-same 
little  red  memorandum  book. 

Settling  down  as  if  for  an  hour's  work,  he  took  his 
stylographic  pen  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  write. 
But  when  he  had  written  what  could  hardly  have  been 
three  lines,  he  stopped  short,  picked  up  a  small  piece  of 
blotting  paper,  shut  it  in  the  book,  rose  abruptly  and  left 
the  room. 

Could  he  have  seen  her?  she  asked  herself.  Was  that 
the  reason  he  had  interrupted  himself?  But  no.  If  he 
had  seen  her,  he  would  have  looked  at  her,  would  have 
spoken.     He  was  too  — 

Suddenly  he  appeared  again,  and  Erica's  heart  beat 
quickly.  She  believed  he  had  seen  her  and  had  come  back 
to  speak  to  her  —  to  say  something  hard  and  cruel.  He 
wasn't  in  his  usual  genial  mood  when  he  moved  like  a 
whirlwind. 

The  apprehension  flashed  through  her  mind,  lightning 
quick.  Almost  simultaneously.  Cotton  replaced  the  bit 
of  blotting  paper  on  the  table  and  vanished  again.  Erica 
waited  a  moment.  Then  she  went  to  the  table  and  after 
glancing  quickly  around  seized  the  blotter  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 

Just  outside  the  door  she  encountered  Miss  Melendy 
and  started  perceptibly. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!"  cried  the  girl.  "How  you 
scared  me,  Mrs.  Manners.  What's  the  row?  Anything 
up?  You  look  as  if  you  were  fleeing  from  something  or 
some  one.  Is  there  a  spook  in  the  writing  room?  Or 
have  you  committed  homicide  and  is  that  a  dagger 
you   are   hiding   in  the   fold   of   your   skirt  —  or   what 


no  FIRE  WEED 

would  be  a  fold  if  skirts  weren't  so  like  trousers  this 
year?" 

Mrs.  Manners,  who  truly  was  having  difficulty  to  con- 
ceal the  piece  of  blotting  paper,  small  as  it  was,  flushed 
angrily. 

"  The  ghost  of  boredom  haunts  me  constantly,"  she 
declared  superciliously.  "  I  fancy  it's  the  dead  slowness 
of  everything  that  drives  me  to  endeavor  to  get  a  physical 
reaction,  in  any  event,  through  running  up  stairs.  You 
probably  couldn't  conceive  how  seeing  only  things  you 
know  by  heart,  and  hearing  people  repeat  the  sickeningly 
obvious  banalities  get  on  one's  nerves." 

Miss  Melendy,  who  was  far  from  being  her  best  self 
in  Mrs.  Manners's  presence,  thrust  her  hands  deep  into 
her  skirt  pockets. 

"  Do  you  know,  they  tell  me  that  sort  of  restlessness  is 
likely  to  haunt  every  idle  woman  in  her  thirties,"  she 
remarked  in  a  judicial  tone.  "  Perhaps  that's  partly  why 
I  am  going  in  for  medicine,  —  so  that  I  won't  have  time 
to  get  that  bug." 

"  You'll  only  have  the  more  time,"  retorted  Erica. 
"  Practise  comes  slowly  enough  to  a  doctor  in  any  case, 
and  I  fancy  it  will  come  even  more  slowly  than  usual  to 
you.  I  rather  think  from  my  experience  —  I  am  twenty- 
eight  —  that  first,  people  like  for  a  physician  a  real  man 
and  after  him  a  real  woman.  They're  mighty  shy  of  the 
third  sex." 

With  that  she  was  gone. 

"  At  any  rate,"  remarked  Hank  Melendy  to  herself  as 
she  sat  down  at  the  table  to  write  her  daily  letter  to  her 
father,  "  I  made  her  madder  than  she  did  me,  though  I 
must  own  that  I'm  a  good  bit  riled.  I  should  certainly 
like  to  punch  her  head  for  her !     Old  cat !  " 

She  jerked  her  fountain  pen  from  her  pocket.  As  she 
had  absent-mindedly  put  it  in  wrong  side  up,  as  she  re- 


FIREWEED  III 

moved  the  cap,  a  great  drop  of  ink  fell  on  the  sheet  of 
letter  paper. 

"  Gosh !  Where's  that  blooming  blotter !  "  she  exclaimed 
inelegantly,  looking  and  feeling  wildly  about.  But  there 
was  none  in  sight  on  this  or  the  other  table.  It  happened 
that  she  was  certain  that  it  must  be  in  plain  sight.  As 
she  wriggled  around  another  great  drop  fell  on  her  fresh 
white  pique  skirt. 

With  a  yet  bolder  expletive,  Miss  Melendy  abandoned 
her  pen  and  fled  to  her  room,  —  the  so-called  Italian  room 
which  was  only  half  as  high  as  the  other  lofty  apartments 
and  had  been  assigned  to  her  as  the  only  lady  of  the  party 
who  did  not  take  an  afternoon  nap.  Donning  another 
suit,  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  with  a  lead  pencil. 

When  she  presented  herself  at  Mrs.  Miles's  door,  she 
was  a  bit  later  than  usual.  Mrs.  Miles's  blouses  fastened, 
one  and  all,  in  the  back;  and  Miss  Melendy,  who  was, 
despite  her  masculine  garb,  thoughtful  in  many  little  ways 
commonly  called  feminine,  always  had  herself  ready  fif- 
teen minutes  before  dinner  or  any  other  occasion  when 
it  was  a  question  of  dressing,  in  order  to  put  the  finishing 
touches  upon  Mrs.  Miles's  toilet. 

She  found  that  lady  to-night  standing  before  her  mir- 
ror with  red  eyelids  and  a  much  powdered  nose.  Miss 
Melendy  loathed  powder,  but  she  kissed  Mrs.  Miles  on 
her  fair  powdered  cheek  and  asked  anxiously  if  she  had 
had  bad  news  from  home. 

"  Oh,  no,  Hank  dear.  It's  nothing  at  all.  I'm  just  a 
silly  old  thing !  "  wailed  Mrs.  Miles,  "  I  ought  not  to 
mind  anything,  so  long  as  Miles  keeps  well  and  doesn't 
get  smashed  up  in  his  new  automobile.  Only  —  well, 
Hank,  I  was  in  Miss  Lancaster's  room  just  a  few  minutes 
ago  having  a  real  pleasant  visit  with  her,  when  Mrs.  Man- 
ners came  in.  She  —  sort  of  —  looked  at  me,  you  know, 
and  I  —  I  said  something  about  —  Raphael's  madonnas, 
you  know  "  —  she  caught  her  breath  —  "  and  she  —  " 


112  FIREWEED 

Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  She  struggled  to  go  on. 
But  Miss  Melendy  interfered. 

"  See  here,  honey,  this  won't  do  at  all,"  she  declared 
firmly,  "  You  had  better  wait  until  to-morrow  or  at 
least  until  after  supper  before  you  tell  me.  She's  a  d.f ., 
that's  what  she  is,  and  for  the  moment  we'll  let  it  go 
at  that.  You  won't  digest  your  wittles  unless  you  get 
her  off  your  mind  first." 

"  I  don't  care  so  much  for  that  part  of  it,  Hank,"  Mrs. 
Miles  owned  lugubriously.  "  What  troubles  me  is  the 
way  I  look.  I'm  such  a  fright,  and  I  had  planned  to 
make  a  call  this  evening  on  a  cousin  of  Miles's  —  a  dis- 
tant cousin,  she  is  —  that  I  met  when  I  was  on  East  four 
years  ago.  Cousin  Clara  wrote  me  that  she  was  here  in 
Florence,  and —  Honestly,  dear,  don't  I  look  too  bad 
to  go?" 

"  You'll  be  all  o.k.  after  dinner,  honey ;  it  won't  show  a 
mite  by  that  time,"  Miss  Melendy  assured  her,  and  began 
diplomatically  to  inquire  about  this  friend  of  Cousin 
Clara's,  —  where  she  was  staying,  and  what  she  was  like, 
and  whether  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Miles  was  on  the  con- 
tinent. And  Mrs.  Miles  straightway  forgot  her  troubles 
as  she  entered  into  a  recital  that  lasted  until  they  went 
downstairs,  though  she  drew  a  deep,  sobbing  breath  now 
and  then  that  went  straight  to  Hank's  warm  heart. 

Meantime,  Erica  Manners  was  also  dressing  for  din- 
ner, but  more  deliberately  and  unperturbed.  She  had 
chosen  a  favorite  and  very  becoming  gown,  a  rich,  soft 
silk,  fawn-colored  and  opalescent,  with  chiffon  drapery 
and  pearl  trimming.  The  shade  of  the  silk  so  accorded 
with  her  soft  fawn-colored  hair  and  dun-colored  eyes 
as  to  make  her  exceedingly  picturesque;  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  this,  together  with  a  certain  vaguely  eager 
expectation  connected  with  the  bit  of   blotting  paper. 


FIREWEED  113 

enhanced  this  by  lending  a  flush  to  her  cheeks  and  a  light 
to  her  eyes.  She  had  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  the 
disagreeable  episodes  of  the  afternoon  (perhaps  she  had 
vented  a  good  part  of  her  ill  humor  upon  Mrs.  Miles) 
and  felt  quite  like  herself ;  —  not,  indeed,  like  the  self 
that  had  been  so  excited,  so  almost  happy,  as  she  had 
discussed  poetry  with  Caleb  Cotton  in  the  garden,  but 
like  the  old,  every-day  self  of  pre-trial  days  who  had 
been,  after  all,  very  gcod  company. 

Closing  the  door  of  her  bedroom  to  shut  out  the  sight 
and  thought  of  Miss  Lancaster,  Erica  drew  the  blotting 
paper  from  the  drawer,  and  taking  a  silver-backed  mirror 
from  the  dressing-table,  seated  herself  on  a  sofa  under 
the  light.  As  she  had  anticipated,  the  words,  written  with 
a  coarse  point,  were  quite  legible  on  the  surface  of  the 
mirror.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  read  with  a  thrill 
of  excitement: 

"  On  this  day,  eleven  years  ago,  my  beloved  Grace 
entered  into  eternal  life." 

The  mirror  slipped  from  Erica's  hand.  Her  eyes 
stared  unseeingly  at  the  reversed  letters  on  the  blotting 
paper,  for  they  had  filled  with  tears.  She  could  not 
understand  how  or  wherefore,  but  suddenly  she  dropped 
her  head  against  the  arm  of  the  sofa  and  wept  softly,  the 
tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

It  was  only  for  a  few  moments,  but  the  effect  was 
strange,  almost  marvelous ;  her  heart  was  strangely  eased, 
her  spirit  refreshed.  Her  face  was  truly  sweet  and 
gentle  as  the  explanation  came  to  her  of  Caleb  Cotton's 
repeating  that  morning  the  lines  he  had  afterwards  re- 
peated to  her: 

"  Backward,  turn  backward,  O  time  in  your  flight, 
Make  me  a  child  again,  just  for  to-night !  " 

What  an  absurd,  loyal,  likable  soul  he  was,  after  all! 
And  —  they  were  getting  acquainted! 


CHAPTER   XI 

At  dinner  that  night,  whereas  Mrs.  Miles  was,  as  she 
had  apprehended,  rather  a  fright,  Erica  Manners  was 
only  the  more  picturesque  for  the  tears  she  had  shed. 
Indeed,  for  the  moment,  she  was  almost  lovely.  Her 
gown  gleamed  with  a  soft,  pearl-like  luster;  there  were 
faint  golden  lights  in  her  hair,  a  faint  flush  on  her  cheeks, 
and  a  pensiveness  that  was  almost  sweetness  deepened 
somewhat  her  shallow  brown  eyes.  Again,  while  every- 
one in  the  dining  room  who  looked  at  Mrs.  Miles  knew 
she  had  been  crying,  only  one  person  guessed  the  fact 
in  regard  to  Mrs.  Manners.  Caleb  Cotton  might  have 
been  dense  in  certain  directions,  but  in  others  he  was 
the  clearest  of  the  clear-sighted.  As  he  glanced  at  the 
table  where  she  sat  with  Miss  Lancaster,  he  detected  the 
signs  in  a  twinkling. 

To-day  he  had  understood  for  the  first  time  how  it  was 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  Alexander  Manners 
should  have  retained  his  love  for  his  wife  up  to  the  last. 
And  now  he  felt  sorry  for  her,  poor,  lonely,  spoiled  child, 
with  her  little  impulses  towards  what  was  fair  and  fine 
and  her  unconsciously  colossal  selfishness.  None  the  less 
he  forgot  her  quite  when  he  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Miles. 
Evidence  of  recent  grief  on  the  countenance  of  his  old 
friend  touched  Cotton  nearly.  But  perceiving  that  she 
strove  to  conceal  her  trouble,  and  that  Miss  Melendy  was 
striving  to  make  her  forget  it,  he  came  to  the  latter's 
assistance  cordially.  Making  the  dinner  hour  cheerful 
with  his  droll  off-hand  talk,  which  was  to-night  prac- 

114 


FIREWEED  115 

tically  monologue,  he  enlivened  the  others  and  completely 
diverted  Mrs.  Miles,  so  that  at  the  close  of  it  she  was 
ready  and  eager  for  her  visit  to  Miles's  cousin. 

Nancy  had  not  felt  able  to  come  down,  so  her  father 
left  promptly  as  they  rose  from  the  table.  Dr.  Burgess 
went  out  with  Mrs.  Miles  to  put  her  in  her  carriage  and 
direct  the  driver.  The  others  lingered  in  the  lobby.  As 
Mrs.  Manners  would  have  passed  through,  Miss  Melendy 
stopped  her. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,"  she  cried,  "  I'm  depending  on 
you  to  clear  up  a  mystery  for  me ! " 

Erica  stared  at  her  in  haughty  inquiry,  though  within 
she  was  extremely  disturbed.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  was  afraid  of  some  one.  She  feared  tht  auda- 
cious wit  of  the  young  girl  she  hated. 

"  I  am  sure  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  you  mean. 
Miss  Melendy,  but  I  will  ask  you  to  be  brief,  for  I  am 
rather  in  a  hurry,"  she  said  coldly. 

The  eyes  of  the  others  centered  upon  the  two;  there 
was  a  curious  sense  of  tension  in  the  air.  Miss  Melendy, 
despite  the  attempt  she  made  to  be  casual,  was  pale,  and 
her  youthful  brow  was  set  and  stern.  She  wore  a  red 
scarf  with  her  white  suit,  and  her  friends  thought  she 
looked  handsome,  —  like  a  righteous  young  judge.  Miss 
Cameron  said  afterwards. 

"  Very  well,  then  I  needn't  be  preliminary,"  she  said. 
"  Did  you  happen  to  carry  off  that  small,  precious  blotter 
from  the  table  in  the  writing-room  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Of  cours*  not !  What  do  you  mean.  Miss  Melendy  ?  " 
Erica  retorted  hotly.  Afterwards  she  told  herself  that 
it  wasn't  really  a  lie  because  she  answered  before  she 
thought.  Moreover,  it  was  not  Miss  Melendy's  business. 
One  who  thrusts  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  before  another's 
face  forfeits  by  that  very  action  one's  right  to  the  truth. 
However,  if  she  had  been  cooler,  it  would  have  been  more 


ii6  FIREWEED 

satisfactory  to  refuse  haughtily  to  answer  such  an  inso- 
lent demand. 

"You're  quite  sure?"  Miss  Melendy  asked  incredu- 
lously. Mrs.  Manners  shrugged  her  shoulders  super- 
ciliously. Whereupon  Miss  Melendy  took  the  others  into 
her  confidence,  —  or  such  as  remained.  Mrs.  Manners 
herself  stood  still,  partly  because  she  was  hemmed  in, 
partly  because  she  did  not  dare  to  leave  until  she  should 
learn  Miss  Melendy's  purpose  in  attacking  her.  Mrs. 
Burgess,  who  was  mildly  alarmed,  stole  out,  with  Miss 
Lancaster  reluctantly  following.  The  latter  knew  that 
Mrs.  Manners  would  never  forgive  her  if  she  should 
linger. 

"  Listen,"  Miss  Melendy  cautioned  them  superfluously. 
"  Soon  after  seven,  I  came  down  to  the  writing-room  to 
write  to  dad,  and  met  Mr.  Cotton  at  the  foot  of  the  stair. 
He  saw  what  I  was  up  to  and  said,  well  now,  it  must 
have  been  a  premonition  of  my  need  that  made  him  go 
back  at  that  very  minute  to  restore  the  blotter  he  had 
carried  away  shut  up  in  his  little  red  book  to  its  proper 
place.  I  told  him  that  more  likely  what  reminded  him 
was  the  fact  that  he  couldn't  get  the  precious  book  into 
his  pocket  with  the  blotter  sticking  out,  and  he  drew 
down  his  lips  and  said  *  Just  so ! '  All  that  naturally 
fixed  it  in  my  mind  and  prepared  me  to  find  the  blotter 
in  case  of  need ;  but,  by  George,  when  I  spilled  a  gob  of 
ink  and  reached  round  for  it,  it  wasn't  there!  It  was 
nowhere  to  be  found.     Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Did  you  look  on  the  floor.  Hank  ?  "  Miss  Budd  in- 
quired soberly. 

"  Indeed,  I  did.  Buddy  dear,  and  on  the  ceiling  and 
the  chandelier.  You've  got  another  guess  coming.  Friend 
Sherlock." 

"  Oh,  Hank !  "  protested  Miss  Little,  giggling. 

"  You  know  it  couldn't  have  been  three  minutes  — 


FIREWEED  117 

hardly  more  than  three  seconds  —  from  the  time  Mr. 
Cotton  left  the  room  until  I  entered  it,  meeting  Mrs. 
Manners  just  this  side  the  threshold.  Was  there  any  one 
else  in  the  room  when  he  left,  Mrs.  Manners  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  Miss  Melendy,"  said  Erica 
shortly.  "  It's  altogether  too  hot  to  stand  in  this  stufTy 
hole  talking  nonsense.  I  will  get  you  a  large  sheet  of 
blotting  paper  to-morrow  or  a  dozen  large  sheets  and  if 
you  can't  wait  you  may  have  my  writing  case  meantime. 
Will  that  satisfy  you,  pray  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Manners,"  returned  Miss 
Melendy  promptly  and  pleasantly.  "  All  that,  you  know, 
is  nothing  to  Old  Sleuth.     It's  the  mystery  that  gets  me." 

Erica  felt  it  undignified  and  unworthy  herself  to  linger ; 
but  when  Miss  Melendy  again  turned  to  her  satellites,  like 
a  concert  master  facing  his  orchestra,  she  couldn't  but 
remain  to  see  how  far  the  insolent  girl  might  go. 

"  One  reason  why  I'm  so  keen  about  it,  is  because 
when  I  was  at  boarding-school  where  there  was  a  pretty 
lovesick  little  teacher  who  was  supposed  to  be  always 
writing  to  her  beau,  one  of  the  girls  took  to  following 
her  about  with  a  little  mirror  and  reading  sentiments 
from  the  blotters  she  used.  The  head  mistress  got  hold 
of  it  somehow,  and  Lord !  what  a  row !  What  a  dressing 
down  that  girl  got!  And  those  that  had  listened  to  her 
didn't  get  off  lightly,  believe  me!  To  this  day,  I  never 
see  a  blotter  with  any  sort  of  legible  tracks  on  it  that  I 
don't  shudder  inwardly.  But  of  course,  in  —  oh,  come  on 
girls,  let's  go  make  a  thorough  search  of  the  premises." 

All  the  group,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Manners, 
followed  Miss  Melendy  into  the  writing-room.  Needless 
to  say,  there  was  no  search  for  the  lost  bit  of  paper.  The 
six  of  them  seated  themselves  in  a  compact  group. 

"  My  dear  Hank,"  protested  Miss  Cameron  gently, 
"  weren't  you  rather  hard  ?  " 


ii8  FIREWEED 

Hank  drew  a  deep  sigh  as  she  plumped  herself  dewn  on 
a  sofa  between  Mary  Little  and  Maude  Griffiths. 

"  I  suppose  I  was.  I  feel  like  thirty  cents,  I  confess," 
she  returned.  "  I  haven't  any  hunch  for  playing  the 
bully;  and  goodness  knows,  if  that  woman  wants  to 
read  what  Mr.  Cotton  writes  in  his  diary,  let  her! 
Only  —  " 

Miss  Little  laughed. 

"  But  Hank,  consider.  I'd  be  willing  to  wager  twenty 
lire  that  all  any  blotter  he  used  would  give  away  would  be 
lists  of  figures :  —  the  height  of  the  Campanile  in  metres, 
the  number  of  sculptures  on  the  Duomo,  or  even  the 
number  of  pieces  that  go  to  make  the  mosaics  we  saw 
this  morning." 

Again  she  laughed.  "  That  man  has  such  a  passion  for 
facts  and  figures !  "  she  cried.  "  They  might  be  little 
orphans,  he's  so  tender  towards  them ! " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  girls,  when  I  met  him,  Mr.  Cotton 
was  looking  as  sad  as  if  they  had  been  little  dead  orphans, 
stretched  out  in  a  row,  —  that's  why  I  tried  to  jolly  him," 
confessed  Hank.  "  But  that  wasn't  why  I  pitched  into 
Lady  Manners.  I'm  not  guarding  Mr.  Cotton's  secrets, 
though  he  is  such  an  old  dear,  and  I'm  not  watching  over 
her  ladyship's  honor  —  or  want  of  it.  I  simply  took  my 
chance  to  pay  her  back  because  I  was  furious  at  her  for 
making  Mrs.  Miles  cry.  She's  lit  into  Mrs.  Miles  more 
than  Once,  cat  as  she  is,  and  to-day  Mrs.  Miles  was 
awfully  done  up  over  it.  You  all  saw  how  she  looked 
some  little  time  after  the  worst  was  over.  So  I  lit  into 
Mrs.  Manners." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  don't  know  what  good 
it  will  do  —  beyond  making  me  feel  queer,"  she  added. 

"  I  can't  help  wishing  she  hadn't  joined  us ;  we  were 
such  a  cozy  little  family  party  before,"  observed  Miss 
Williams. 


FIREWEED  119 

"  It  wasn't  so  bad  until  we  came  to  a  pension,"  re- 
marked Miss  Budd  hopefully.  "  Maybe  when  we  get  to 
Rome,  we  will  be  in  a  hotel  again  and  they'll  have  their 
own  suite  and  will  stick  to  it." 

"  It  seemed  to  me  she  was  the  limit  in  Paris.  And 
Rome  is  only  one  place.  We're  going  to  stop  at  a  slew  of 
pensions;  and  anyhow,  she'll  make  shift  to  get  in  her 
little  digs  and  nasty  speeches  just  the  same,"  grumbled 
Miss  Melendy. 

"  And  don't  you  think  pensions  are  rather  nicer  ? " 
inquired  Maude  Griffiths  plaintively.  "  It  would  hardly 
pay  to  put  up  at  hotels  just  so  that  she  could  be  by 
herself." 

Mary  Little  laughed  as  she  reached  her  long  arm  across 
Miss  Melendy  to  pat  Maude's  crinkly  red  hair. 

"  No,  Maudie,  indeed  it  would  not,  and  your  last  name 
ought  to  be  Gilpin,  because  of  your  prudent  mind.  But 
doesn't  it  occur  to  any  one  else  that  Mrs.  Manners  is  just 
as  uncomfortable  as  we  under  this  combination.  And 
that  makes  me  think  —  it  was  too  funny  for  words! 
Giuseppe  —  " 

"  Hold  on,  Little  Mary,  you're  getting  off  the  track, 
and  I  want  to  stay  on  till  something  is  settled  or  unset- 
tled," Miss  Melendy  broke  in.  "  And  what  you  said 
makes  me  think.  If  that  is  so,  —  if  she  doesn't  like  us 
any  better  than  we  tolerate  her  —  why  isn't  it  dead  easy  ? 
She  has  no  use  for  us  and  we  less  for  her.  Why  not 
decently  separate,  then  ?  We  won't  even  need  to  employ 
Mr.  Cotton  to  divorce  us,  for  both  sides  agree  to  incom- 
patibility of  temper.     What  do  you  say.  Miss  Cameron  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  it's  so  simple  as  all  that.  Hank,"  replied 
Miss  Cameron  gravely.  She  had  had  long  experience 
with  girls  and  women  and  was  older  than  Mrs.  Manners 
by  twenty  years.  "  It  is  perfectly  evident  that  Mrs.  Man- 
ners doesn't  care  for  us;  but  I  hardly  think  she  would 


I20  FIREWEED 

be  willing  to  leave  us.  Otherwise,  why  hasn't  she  made 
some  move  to  that  end  already?  Miss  Lancaster  is  per- 
fectly fit  now,  and  yet  they  apparently  have  no  notion  of 
going  on  by  themselves  again." 

Secretly,  Miss  Cameron  believed  that  Mrs.  Manners's 
interest  in  Mr.  Cotton  would  hold  her  when  nothing  else 
could.  Indeed,  she  believed  that  it  held  her  now.  But 
apparently  no  one  else  had  noticed  that  situation  and  she 
was  too  upright  to  plant  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  the 
others.  All  the  other  members  of  the  party  relied  im- 
plicitly upon  Miss  Cameron's  judgment,  and  her  sober 
words  carried  conviction  at  this  moment. 

"  We  certainly  were  a  cozy  little  party  without  her,'* 
repeated  Miss  Budd  pleasantly,  and  Miss  Williams  sec- 
onded the  remark  as  cordially  as  if  it  had  not  been  her 
own  in  the  first  instance. 

"  Cozy  sounds  like  winter  and  sitting  round  a  fire  or 
snuggling  under  a  comfortable,"  laughed  Miss  Little, 
"  but  all  the  same  we  were  jogging  along  under  the 
blazing  canopy  very  peacefully  until  those  two  butted  in. 
Funny,  isn't  it,  what  a  difference  two  people  can  make  — 
or  rather,  one  person,  for  by  herself  Miss  Lancaster's 
comparatively  harmless." 

Mary  Little,  who  wore  tulle  over  bright  blue,  which 
made  her  prominent  round  blue  eyes  look  innocent  and 
curious  like  those  of  a  big  baby,  stretched  out  her  long 
legs  before  her  and  gazed  complacently  upon  her  blue 
satin  slippers  and  fine  silk  ankles. 

"  Some  foot ! "  remarked  Miss  Melendy,  and  placed 
her  own  square  toes  alongside  the  narrow  satin  points. 

"  I  don't  suppose  Cousin  Annabel  would  have  come 
abroad  one  step  if  she  had  known  about  that  Mrs.  Man- 
ners," declared  Miss  Budd,  who  was  also  in  blue  and 
looked  very  large  and  very  blonde.  "  Miles  is  that  care- 
ful of  her,  he  would  never  have  consented.     Do  you 


FIRE  WEED  121 

know,  I  don't  believe  Cousin  Annabel's  ever  had  a  harsh 
word  said  to  her  from  the  moment  she  was  married  until 
this  Mrs.  Manners  —  er  —  well  —  " 

"  Lit  into  her,"  concluded  Miss  Melendy  as  she  jumped 
up  and  perched  on  the  arm  of  Miss  Cameron's  chair  so 
as  to  face  the  others. 

"  See  here,  fellows,  what's  the  sense  of  chewing  the 
rag  any  longer?  "  she  demanded.  "  Why  should  we  have 
our  trip  spoiled  in  this  way,  when  we're  not  half  done 
yet?  Why  shouldn't  we  just  go  to  Dr.  Burgess  and  ask 
him  to  —  well,  to  request  Mrs.  Manners  to  hand  in  her 
resignation?  Little  Mary  and  I,  being  born  fighters, 
could  stand  her;  but  Maude  lets  it  wear  on  her,  and  it's 
simply  ruining  everything  for  Mrs.  Miles,  not  to  mention 
making  things  less  cozy  for  Buddy  and  Willy.  And  even 
Nancy  —  I  don't  know,  but  I  had  strong  suspicions  when 
I  came  upon  them  alone  in  the  garden  the  day  before 
we  left  Paris  that  the  cat  had  been  rowing  Nancy.  If 
she  could  do  that  —  " 

Hank's  honest  eyes  flashed. 

"  No,  Hank,  I  hardly  think  she  would  do  that,"  Miss 
Cameron  interjected. 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  sure.  She's  capable  of  as  bad,  but  it 
doesn't  seem  likely  any  one  would  venture  to  sass  Mr. 
Cotton's  daughter.  For  all  he's  so  dear,  he'd  be  simply 
terrific  as  the  lawyer  prosecuting  one.  But  certainly  Nan 
wouldn't  miss  her.  And  Doctor  would  be  ready  to  let 
her  go  hang.  She  makes  him  more  trouble  than  any  one 
he  ever  had  before.  Mrs.  Burgess  whispered  that  in 
Mrs.  Miles's  ear." 

"  It  isn't  like  she  was  poor,"  Maude  Griffiths  said  gently. 

"  Not  on  your  tintype.  Miss  Lancaster  whispers  with 
bated  breath  that  she's  worth  a  million  or  more.  Let 
her  hire  a  special  guide !  Let  her  be  a  royal  Coca's  tour 
of  self-and-nursemaid ! " 


122  FIRE  WEED 

After  some  further  discussion,  it  became  plain  that 
general  sentiment  favored  getting  rid  of  the  intruder  as 
soon  as  might  be.  Miss  Williams  proposed  in  a  quick, 
nervous  way  that  belied  her  counsel,  that  they  take  a  few 
days  to  consider  the  matter. 

"  No  sirree !  "  rejoined  Miss  Melendy  emphatically. 
"  We'll  do  it  to-night,  Willy  dear,  before  Mrs.  Miles  gets 
back.  Like  as  not  she'd  be  too  chicken-hearted  to  agree 
to  it.  She  was  rather  smitten  with  Mrs.  Manners  in  the 
first  place,  if  you  recollect.  No,  we'll  put  it  through  in 
her  absence.     We  have  a  quorum  right  here." 

"  How  about  Mr.  Cotton?  Shouldn't  we  consult  him?  " 
inquired  Maude  Griffiths  in  the  matter-of-fact  voice  that 
was  curiously  contrasted  with  her  extreme  prettiness. 

Miss  Cameron  vetoed  that  promptly. 

"  Oh,  no,  Maude,  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  bring  Mr.  Cot- 
ton in.  If  the  thing  is  to  be  done,  we  women  must  put 
it  through.  We  can't  put  it  on  a  man,  particularly  upon 
as  chivalrous  a  gentleman  as  one  is  likely  to  encounter 
in  a  lifetime.  Of  course,  if  she  were  a  friend  of  his  it 
would  be  different;  but  he  avoids  her  when  he  can.  I 
think,  Hank,  it  is  for  you  and  me  to  do  this.  Dr.  Bur- 
gess will  be  out  in  the  garden  now.  Shall  we  go  and 
lay  it  before  him  and  let  him  have  the  night  to  think  it 
over?" 

They  found  it  not  at  all  a  difficult  task  to  perform. 
Dr.  Burgess  was  devoted  to  his  original  party,  some  of 
whom  had  been  his  friends  for  years.  He  heard  Miss 
Cameron  and  Miss  Melendy  sympathetically;  and  though 
he  had  not  realized  how  bad  things  were,  conceived  the 
situation  immediately. 

"  I'll  think  it  over  and  let  you  know  to-morrow  night, 
after  our  return  from  Fiesole,"  he  agreed.  "  Of  course, 
since  that's  the  way  the  majority  of  us  feel,  there's  really 
nothing  to  do  but  to  return  as  soon  as  may  be  to  our 


FIREWEED  123 

original  number,  and  finish  our  tour  so  happily  as  to  make 
us  forget  the  unfortunate  digression.  The  only  question 
is  as  to  the  how  and  the  when." 

He  smiled  ruefully. 

"  If  you  won't  tell,  I  don't  mind  saying  to  you  two 
that  I'm  a  bit  afraid  of  Mrs.  Manners.  I  assure  you  it 
will  be  no  —  " 

"  Cinch  ?  "  suggested  Miss  Melendy. 

"  No  cinch  to  discuss  the  question  with  her,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"  But  you're  game,"  Miss  Melendy  assured  him  warmly. 

"  I'm  game !  "  he  declared. 

Miss  Melendy  had  his  comforting  tidings  at  the  end 
of  her  tongue  when  she  went  to  Mrs.  Miles's  room  late 
that  evening,  to  help  her  out  of  her  gown.  When  she 
returned  to  her  own  room  she  felt  thankful  that  they 
had  not  delayed  in  putting  the  matter  before  their  leader. 
For  she  had  found  Mrs.  Miles  full  of  excitement,  eager 
to  relate  some  news  or  gossip  she  had  heard  from  the 
stranger.  Miss  Melendy  wouldn't  for  worlds  have 
missed  the  story;  but  she  was  well  pleased  that  she  had 
not  heard  it  before  going  to  Dr.  Burgess. 

Mrs.  Miles  had  named  to  Mrs.  Whipple  the  members 
of  the  party  at  the  Pensione  Magenta.  The  latter  had 
exclaimed  at  Mrs.  Manners's  name.  A  connection  of 
hers  had  married  Alexander  Manners's  cousin,  and  hav- 
ing discovered  that  she  was  the  widow  of  Alexander,  she 
related  the  history  of  the  sensational  divorce  suit.  The 
only  name  she  recollected  besides  those  of  the  principals 
was  that  of  Philip  Stokes.     Of  him,  she  had  much  to  say. 

It  was  not  Mrs.  Whipple's  fault  that  her  information 
in  regard  to  that  young  man  was  inaccurate  where  it  was 
not  erroneous  or  false.  She  handed  on  the  story  to  Mrs. 
Miles  as  she  had  received  it,  giving  her  the  impression 


124  FIREWEED 

that  Stokes  had  been  the  co-respondent,  and  that  all  sorts 
of  shocking  things  had  come  out  concerning  Mrs.  Man- 
ners's  relations  with  him.  But  Mrs.  Manners,  she  as- 
sured her  listener,  had  been  so  infatuated  and  brazen  that 
she  hadn't  minded  anything,  and  that  the  sudden  tragic 
death  of  her  husband  hadn't  caused  her  to  turn  a  hair. 

"  I  can't  seem  to  remember  anything  more  now.  Hank 
dear,  but  if  anything  should  come  to  me,  I'll  tell  you 
to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Miles  in  conclusion  as,  freed  from 
the  restrictions  of  her  dress,  looking  larger  but  more 
comfortable,  she  stood  before  the  mirror  putting  up  her 
front  hair  in  crimping  pins. 

"  Just  think,  Hank,"  she  added,  "  Mr.  Cotton  must 
have  known  all  about  it." 

"  It  might  have  happened  before  he  came  East,"  sug- 
gested Hank. 

"  My  dear  Hank,  it  was  only  last  spring !  " 

"  Gee !  "  cried  Hank  in  amazement.  But  when  she  con- 
sidered the  matter  with  regard  to  Mr.  Cotton,  she  said  of 
course  he  wouldn't  be  the  sort  to  peach. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  great  to  hear  about  it  from  him  now?  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Being  a  lawyer,  he  would  know  all  the 
fine  points.     But  I'd  never  dass  ask  him,  would  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  would,  though  I  can't  imagine  being 
afraid  of  Caleb  Cotton,"  responded  the  other.  But  her 
thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

"  Maybe  it's  that  that  makes  her  —  Mrs.  Manners  —  so 
—  difficult,"  she  observed  charitably.  "  Mrs.  Whipple  says 
she  was  all  gone  on  the  young  man  and  expected  he  would 
marry  her  as  soon  as  she  was  free.  But  I  believe  she 
was  older  than  what  he  was.  Anyhow,  for  some  reason, 
he  hung  off.  He  wants  her  money,  Mrs.  Whipple  says, 
yet  after  her  husband's  death  made  it  so  easy,  he  wasn't 
so  anxious.  And  people  say  she  came  abroad  to  get 
over  it.     It  looks  very  much  like  it,  doesn't  it.  Hank  ?  " 


FIREWEED  125 

"  Might  be,"  said  Hank  absently. 

"  I  can't  help  being  sorry  for  her,"  added  Mrs.  Miles, 
"  even  if  she  didn't  behave  very  well.  It's  a  terrible 
thing  being  in  love  that  way  and  not  having  it  returned. 
Poor,  misled  young  thing !  " 

"  Not  so  darned  young,  either ! "  remarked  Miss  Me- 
lendy  dryly,  "  for  she  owns  to  being  twenty-eight.  And 
take  it  from  me,  my  friend,  if  there  was  any  misleading 
done,  that  young  thing  had  a  hand  in  it.  And  I  can't 
believe  she  got  half  her  come-uppings  either." 

The  following  morning  Miss  Melendy  told  the  others 
she  hadn't  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Miles  what  had  taken  place 
among  them  during  her  absence,  and  cautioned  them  to 
say  nothing  until  the  matter  should  be  settled. 


CHAPTER   XII 

Among  his  professional  paraphernalia.  Dr.  Burgess 
carried  about  a  small  folding  rack  which  was  always 
placed  in  a  conspicuous  position  in  the  hotel  or  pension 
where  the  party  was  quartered  and  in  which  the  letters 
of  the  members  were  arranged.  Since  Mrs.  Manners 
had  joined  the  party,  her  letters  had  been  posted  with 
the  others,  and  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  one 
who  visited  the  rack  regularly  to  fail  to  remark  that  the 
bulk  of  her  mail  was  from  one  correspondent.  She  re- 
ceived many  letters,  sometimes  three  or  four  by  one  post, 
in  large,  square  gray-green  envelopes,  addressed  in  a  bold, 
handsome  hand  that  was  plainly  that  of  a  man.  It  was 
only  the  morning  after  Mrs.  Miles's  call  upon  Mrs. 
Whipple  that  Miss  Melendy  noticed  that  the  postmark 
upon  two  such  letters  which  had  just  been  put  out  was 
St.  Vincent,  —  the  same  as  that  upon  a  smaller  envelope 
directed  in  a  cramped  old-fashioned  handwriting  to  Miss 
Nancy  Cotton. 

Manners  coming  just  before  Melendy,  the  girl  couldn't 
help  seeing  this,  and  she  did  not  feel  she  was  doing  wrong 
in  taking  a  second  survey.  So  doing,  she  knit  her  brows 
in  perplexity.  "  Mrs.  Erica  Ericson  Manners "  —  it 
wasn't  only  that  the  writing  was  so  handsome  and  dash- 
ing; there  was  something  about  the  way  in  which  the 
lovely  name  was  written  in  full  that  made  one  feel  per- 
force that  it  had  been  done  con  amore.  These  missives 
couldn't  be  from  the  reluctant  Stokes,  the  young  man 
who  wanted  her  ladyship's  money  but  hesitated  at  taking 

126 


FIREWEED  127 

her  along  with  it.  And  anyhow,  he  wouldn't  write  so 
constantly  as  this  correspondent  wrote ;  for,  according  to 
Mrs.  Miles's  informant,  it  was  a  case  of  "  Whistle  and 
I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad."  There  must  be  another,  a  gen- 
uine lover,  if,  indeed,  one  could  be  genuine  and  care  for 
her.  However,  Hank  had  to  admit  there  had  been  not 
a  few  instances  in  history  of  obsession  of  that  sort. 

She  climbed  the  stair  slowly  and  was  so  deep  in  thought 
that  she  started  violently  as  she  encountered  Nancy  Cot- 
ton in  the  upper  corridor. 

"  Oh,  honey,  there's  a  letter  for  you  down  there.  Wait 
here  and  I'll  fetch  it,"  she  proposed. 

But  Nancy  declared  she  would  go  down  and  get  it. 

"Just  where  are  the  letters.  Hank,  dear?"  she  asked. 
"  Pappy  always  gets  ours  so  I  never  think  anything  about 
it.  But  he  went  off  early  this  morning  so  as  to  get  up 
to  the  Piazza  Michelangelo  for  the  sunrise,  and  isn't 
back  yet." 

Hank  directed  her  and  passed  on.  As  she  would  have 
entered  Mrs.  Miles's  room,  she  recollected  that  she,  too, 
had  had  a  letter,  and  started  back.  But  she  stopped  short 
on  the  upper  landing. 

Below  her,  Nancy  stood  before  the  rack  like  one  trans- 
fixed by  horror  or  terror,  gazing  straight  before  her,  — 
yes,  and  at  the  letter  which  she  herself  had  just  been 
studying.  White  as  a  ghost,  with  all  her  sorrowful, 
hungering  heart  in  her  eyes,  with  clasped  hands  and 
frozen  face,  the  girl  agonized  (Miss  Melendy  could  but 
know)  over  that  line  of  handwriting.  Suddenly  she 
threw  a  quick,  wild  glance  about  her.  Reassured,  she 
unclasped  her  hands  and  softly  touched  the  letter  on  top, 
laid  her  hand  against  it  as  if  to  stroke  it.  Then,  bolder 
yet,  she  took  it  out,  pressed  it  against  her  white  cheek 
and  to  her  lips.  An  instant  more,  and  she  flew  up  the 
stair,  passing  Miss  Melendy  without  seeing  her. 


128  FIREWEED 

Conscious,  on  her  own  part,  of  a  strange  weakness  that 
was  almost  faintness,  Miss  Melendy  returned  to  her 
own  room,  again  forgetting  Mrs.  Miles.  She  forgot, 
too,  her  own  letters,  as  she  sat  like  a  stone,  trying 
to  think,  yet  seemingly  incapable  of  thought.  For  the 
moment,  the  shock  seemed  almost  as  great  to  her  as  to 
Nancy. 

After  some  time  she  went  to  the  casement  and  stood 
looking  down  into  the  garden.  Poor  little  Nancy !  With 
all  her  far-fetched  speculation,  she  had  never  dreamed  of 
anything  so  terrible  as  this.  The  child  was  in  love  with 
some  one  who  was  in  his  turn  in  love  with  Mrs.  Manners ! 
What  a  terrible,  what  a  diabolical  situation!  It  might 
or  might  not  be  that  Stokes,  —  in  any  event  it  was  some- 
one as  bad ;  for  any  one  who  cared  enough  for  Mrs.  Man- 
ners to  write  her  daily  —  as  this  person  must  —  wasn't 
worth  one  glance  of  Nancy's  sweet  eyes.  Nevertheless, 
the  hard  fact  confronted  her  that  Nancy  had  given  her 
heart  into  the  keeping  of  such  an  one.  Moreover,  she 
had  as  rival  a  selfish,  hard,  sophisticated  woman  of  the 
world.  If  this  were  not  tragedy,  then  Hannah  Melendy 
did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word. 

Well,  she  knew  now.  She  had  sought  arduously, 
eagerly,  for  some  clew  to  Nancy's  sorrowful  mystery. 
Now  she  had  what  she  sought.  At  last  she  had  a  foot- 
hold. Wherefore,  she  should  be  encouraged,  spurred  to 
vigorous  action  as  she  had  anticipated.  But  such  was 
far  from  being  the  fact.  With  a  heavy  heart,  Hannah 
Melendy  confessed  that  action  was  impossible.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  give  up  without  making  an 
effort.     Nancy  was  —  But  she  wouldn't  say  doomed. 

The  chambermaid  came  in  to  do  her  room.  Seizing 
her  hat  and  jamming  it  down  on  her  head.  Miss  Melendy 
fled  precipitately  into  the  street,  without  waiting  for  her 
usual  word  of  "  queer  "  Italian  with  Marietta  or  stopping 


FIREWEED  129 

to  inquire  what  plans  for  the  morning  the  others  might 
have. 

The  sky  was  cloudless  and  very  blue,  though  it  seemed 
strangely  hard  and  metallic.  Without  knowing  or  caring 
whither  she  went,  the  girl  made  her  way  swiftly  down 
the  Borgo  Ognissanti,  keeping  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
street,  though  the  morning  was  scorchingly  hot  already, 
through  the  Via  dei  Fossi  into  the  Piazza  beyond. 
Vaguely  aware,  now,  of  a  secret  prompting  which  must 
have  drawn  her  hither,  she  crossed  the  square  diagonally 
in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  Pausing  only  to  drop  a  few 
coppers  into  the  hand  of  the  blind  woman  at  the  door, 
she  pushed  aside  the  corner  of  the  portiere  and  took 
refuge  in  Santa  Maria  Novella. 

Refuge,  indeed,  it  proved.  The  dim  coolness  faintly 
perfumed  with  incense,  the  spaces,  the  high  altar,  the 
quietude,  answered  the  cry  of  the  girl's  perturbed  spirit. 
She  dropped  into  a  seat  near  one  of  the  great  pillars  and 
remained  motionless  for  nearly  an  hour.  During  all  that 
time  there  were  no  strangers,  the  hour  being  too  early 
and  the  morning  too  hot  for  tourists  ;  only  now  and  again 
a  flash  of  sunlight  glinted  in  with  the  raising  of  a  corner 
of  the  curtain  as  some  Florentine  woman  or  girl  entered 
and  bowed  before  some  shrine.  Gradually  her  tenseness 
relaxed;  Hannah  Melendy  felt  as  if  a  cool,  kindly  hand 
had  been  laid  upon  her  throbbing  temples.  The  dim  quiet, 
the  coolness,  the  simple  faith  she  seemed  to  see  exempli- 
fied as  these  women  brought  their  burdens  to  lay  before 
the  mother  of  Christ,  made  her  feel  that  her  own  — 
Nancy's  —  might  not  be  altogether  crushing,  that,  though 
the  problem  truly  seemed  hopeless,  there  must  be  solace 
somewhere,  somehow,  for  Nancy  also. 

So  young,  so  sweet,  so  good,  Nancy  should  not  die  of  a 
broken  heart.  As  she  left  the  church  and  came  out  into 
the  full  light  of  the  high  sun,  this  assurance,  more  vaguely 


I30        ^  FIREWEED 

expressed,  was  in  the  girl's  mind.  She  hastened  back  to 
the  Magenta  to  endeavor  to  get  Nancy  to  go  out  before 
luncheon. 

Meanwhile  Erica  Manners  had  gathered  in  the  letters 
that  had  aroused  so  much  feeling,  glanced  over  them  care- 
lessly, and  tossed  them  upon  a  pile  of  others,  largely  from 
the  same  person,  who  was,  of  course,  Philip  Stokes,  on 
the  writing  table  in  her  room.  She  had  had  a  bad  night, 
and  it  seemed  that  more  than  the  old  restlessness  tortured 
her  on  this  hot,  glaring  morning.  Miss  Lancaster  was 
visiting  the  shops  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  Finally,  Erica 
betook  herself  to  the  garden  with  a  book,  hoping  and  half 
expecting  that  Cotton  might  find  her  there  and  resume  the 
conversation  that  had  been  so  inopportunely  interrupted 
the  day  before. 

Not  that  she  thought  he  would  be  eager  about  it, — 
with  all  her  egotism,  she  didn't  dream  of  that.  But  she 
felt  that  he  must  have  understood  she  had  something  to 
say  to  him.  And  that  fair-and-squareness  of  his  that 
made  him  weigh  what  she  said  to  him  in  conversation  as 
thoughtfully  as  if  she  had  been  a  person  high  in  his  esteem 
would  lead  him  to  accord  her  this  —  well,  favor.  Erica 
refrained  from  calling  it  "  justice." 

Even  in  the  morning,  there  were  a  few  shady  spots  in 
the  garden,  and  Erica  had  her  choice  of  these.  For  the 
only  occupant  she  found  was  a  deaf  Englishwoman  who 
lived  at  the  pension  all  the  year  around  except  for  two 
winter  months  spent  in  Egypt,  and  who  had  her  own  seat 
in  a  secluded  corner.  Miss  Cameron  had  gone  with  Miss 
Budd  and  Miss  Williams  to  the  Pitti ;  the  rest  of  the 
party  were  going  about  among  the  shops,  and  the  new- 
comers at  the  Magenta  were  out  for  first  surveys  of  the 
town. 

A  book  she  had  found  in  the  library  lay  open  in  her 


FIREWEED  131 

lap,  but  nearly  an  hour  went  by  and  she  had  not  turned  a 
leaf.  Reading  one  page,  however,  had  distracted  her 
and  as  she  mused,  to  the  melodious  accompaniment  of 
Carlo  Alberto's  medley  of  opera  and  street  songs,  her 
mind  wandering  among  a  corresponding  medley  of 
visions,  her  face  was  for  a  time  as  nearly  serene  as 
would  have  been  possible  with  her. 

She  saw  Marie-Antoinette  (whom  the  volume  in  her 
lap  concerned)  in  her  glittering  pride  at  the  play-house 
at  Versailles.  Again,  she  saw  her  in  the  balcony,  holding 
up  her  ill-fated  little  son  to  the  mob.  Then  she  looked 
back  and  saw  her,  an  untrained,  ignorant  little  girl  of 
fourteen,  setting  forth  on  that  long,  wearisome,  cruel, 
state  pilgrimage  from  Austria  to  Paris.  Erica  sighed. 
Then,  —  being  an  egoist  —  she  saw  another  girl  of  four- 
teen, ignorant,  indeed,  but  extremely  sophisticated, 
haughty  and  bored,  setting  out  for  Europe  with  a  fash- 
ionable aunt  and  a  French  maid.  In  a  way,  this  latter 
girl  had  a  chance  —  a  considerable  chance.  And  yet  — 
Erica  sighed  again  —  surely  something  had  been  wrong 
that  she  should  have  been  so  bored  and  blase  at  fourteen. 

The  music  from  the  kitchen  ceased  suddenly.  The 
scene  changed  drearily.  She  saw  a  dark,  dismal  old 
court-room  that  seemed  stained  with  the  crimes  of  a  cen- 
tury, with  swinging  doors  pierced  by  glass  oblongs  and 
attendants  in  blue  with  brass  buttons  bustling  officially 
about.  She  saw  the  bored  faces  of  lawyers  and  reporters 
in  the  enclosure,  the  judge  and  his  attendants,  and  the 
sea  of  faces  beyond  the  lawyers.  She  heard  a  voice, 
cultivated,  elegant,  adequate,  giving  forth  the  secret  sor- 
rows of  a  woman,  a  mere  girl  in  years,  who  was  bound 
to  a  man  older  than  herself  and  far  below  her  intellec- 
tually and  in  every  other  way.  She  heard  sentences,  even 
epigrams  upon  art  and  poetry  that  made  even  the  news- 
paper men  open  their  eyes. 


132  FIREWEED 

Another  voice  roused  Erica  Manners  rudely,  —  a  voice 
less  cultured,  but  finer  as  to  quality,  absolutely  true  in 
pitch,  deep  and  ringing  and  charged  with  personality. 
But,  dear  God,  what  hard  words !  What  unjust  phrases ! 
And  how  powerful !    How  pitilessly  scathing ! 

She  recalled  what  they  had  said  to  encourage  her  at 
the  time :  how  he  had  believed  her  case  so  strong  that  he 
had  nerved  himself  to  the  highest  pitch  in  his  endeavor  to 
break  it  down.  He  had  truly  put  himself  into  it,  heart 
and  soul. 

Ah !  but  so  he  did  with  everything.  He  was  —  oh,  the 
explanation  was  simple,  but  there  was  no  comfort  in  it. 
Only,  how  comfortable  it  would  be  to  have  him  heart  and 
soul  for  one  instead  of  against  one. 

Erica  leaned  her  head  back  against  the  wicker  bench. 
As  she  closed  her  eyes  she  seemed  not  to  see  but  to  hear 
the  words,  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  phraseology,  which 
seemed  a  part  of  the  faraway  past :  "  On  this  day,  eleven 
years  ago,  my  beloved  Grace  entered  into  eternal  life." 

"  My  beloved  Grace ! "  Had  he  really  loved  her  to  the 
depths  of  his  capacity?  Had  he  gone  into  that,  heart 
and  soul?  But  how  should  he  not?  How  could  one 
question?  And  yet,  if  he  had,  could  he  have  outlived  it, 
even  in  eleven  years  ?  He  was  worn,  truly ;  but  it  seemed 
to  have  been  through  hard  circumstance.  His  eyes, 
though  so  youthfully  clear  and  blue,  were  capable  of 
deep  sadness,  —  indeed,  they  were  always  faintly  sad ; 
and  his  whole  face  seemed  channeled  by  struggle  and 
pain.  But  it  seemed  rather  reminiscence  of  what  he  had 
borne,  coupled  with  anxiety  for  his  daughter  and  a  gen- 
eral consciousness  of  the  burden  of  the  world's  sorrow, 
than  mourning  for  a  lost  love. 

Erica  opened  her  eyes,  shut  her  book  together  and 
tossed  it  carelessly  down  on  the  bench.  What  utter  non- 
sense!   Once  in  a  great  while,  one  caught  a  glimpse  of 


FIREWEED  133 

sadness  in  Cotton's  face.  But  after  all,  it  was  very 
rarely.  As  a  matter  of  commonplace  fact,  the  man  was 
the  happiest  member  of  a  party  that  simply  exuded  smug 
complacency.  However  his  eyes  might  look  in  repose, 
he  was  seldom  in  a  state  of  repose.  For  the  most  part, 
he  simply  went  round  enjoying  himself  from  morning  to 
night!  Such  enjoyment  must  be  crude,  else  it  wouldn't 
find  so  much  to  feast  upon.  Truly,  in  a  way,  he  was 
almost  as  much  a  rube  as  that  fat,  blonde  Budd  woman. 
He  admired  the  gilding  and  colors  of  a  rococo  ceiling  as 
much  as  Giotto's  tower;  and  cared  more  for  a  copy  of 
Guido  Reni  in  mosaic  than  for  Botticelli's  Spring. 

Wearily,  Erica  picked  up  her  book,  found  her  place, 
and  read  a  sentence  three  times.  Then,  her  eyes  on  the 
page,  she  lost  herself  in  reverie  again. 

No,  he  wasn't  anything  like  so  banal  as  that  Budd. 
He  always  had  a  reason,  could  explain  his  preferences. 
And  somehow,  in  spite  of  his  ignorance  of  all  save  the 
law  and  the  lore  of  the  backwoods,  he  was  always  inter- 
esting. That  the  other  members  of  the  party  —  who 
weren't  of  course  fastidious  —  should  simply  hang  on  his 
words  wasn't  surprising,  but  she  herself  —  And  of 
course,  he  was  good-humored  to  the  point  of  genius,  if 
there  was  such  a  point,  and  though  lacking  in  manner, 
was  rarely  thoughtful  and  considerate.  He  was  —  yes, 
one  had  to  admit  that  he  was  chivalrous  to  a  fault.  As 
to  his  ugliness  and  awkwardness  — 

What  a  mass  of  contradictions !  A  gentlemanly  boor ! 
a  gracious  log!  a  courteous  rube!  Erica  wished  to 
heaven  —  she  didn't  know  what  she  did  wish,  she  was 
sure,  but  —  Whatever  that  might  have  been,  she  was 
more  than  content  to  look  up  and  see  the  subject  of  her 
thoughts  coming  towards  her  at  that  moment.  Her  smile 
was  so  natural  and  spontaneous  that  she  did  not  realize 
how  warm  a  welcome  it  gave. 


134  FIREWEED 

"  Goodness,  but  you  look  hot,  Mr.  Cotton ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Do  sit  down  here  in  the  shade  and  cool 
off." 

He  smiled  comically  as  he  stood  irresolute  before  her, 
towering  far  above  her.  He  had  been  out  since  before 
sunrise.  His  tanned  face  was  darkly  ruddy  with  the 
heat,  his  collar  limp  and  his  shoes  dusty.  But  the  damp 
hair  curling  about  his  temples  made  the  direct  gaze  of  his 
blue  eyes  boyish  and  ingenuous,  and  as  he  stood  fanning 
himself  with  his  Panama  hat,  there  was  something  dis- 
tinctly grateful,  even  beneficent  in  his  presence,  —  a 
breadth  and  freshness  as  of  nature  herself,  like  a  breeze 
blown  in  from  a  field  of  lavender  flowers. 

"  I  am  hot,"  he  owned,  "  all  het  up,  as  an  old  aunt  of 
mine  would  have  put  it ;  but  I  really  ought  not  to  sit 
down  with  these  shoes  and  my  cuffs  caving  in.  You  see 
I  came  right  out  here  from  the  street,  thinking  there'd 
be  nobody  round  at  this  time  o'  day.  My  room  gets  tol- 
erably warm  when  the  sun's  near  the  zenith,  so  I  sort  of 
postponed  breaking  and  entering." 

"  You  did  just  right,"  she  declared.  "  What's  the  odds  1 
Sit  right  down  this  moment.  You  ought  to  stay  here  and 
rest  until  luncheon  if  you're  going  to  Fiesole." 

Her  smile  made  her  a  pretty  girl  again.  Cotton  seated 
himself  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  little  settee. 

"  Yes,  I  calculate  to  go,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  "  but  I 
must  wash  up  and  dress ;  and  besides,  I'm  not  tired  at  all, 
only  warm.  And  that,  you  know,  is  largely  because  of 
those  girls.  I  was  strolling  along  the  Arno  —  in  the  sun, 
I  own,  but  when  I'm  headed  in  this  direction  I  like  to 
pass  by  the  statue  of  Garibaldi,  —  there  now,  I  talk  as  if 
it  were  an  old  habit,  and  I  saw  it  for  the  first  time  yes- 
terday. Time  goes  so  fast,  that  yesterday  seems  to  join 
the  remote  past." 

"  Isn't  that  singular.     The  very  same  thing  struck  me  a 


FIREWEED  135 

few  minutes  ago,"  she  cried.  "  But  go  on,  please,  Mr. 
Cotton." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  passing,  some  one  challenged  me,  and 
there  was  a  carriage  stopping,  and  my  own  daughter, 
if  you  please,  ordering  her  father  to  hop  in,  —  hop  in, 
when  he'd  climbed  a  mountain  already.  It  seems  that  she 
and  Miss  Melendy  were  bound  for  a  silversmith's  on  the 
bridge  down  yonder  to  find  some  keepsakes  to  give  to 
Nanny's  friends  back  home,  and  nothing  would  do  but 
that  they  should  take  me  down  to  a  bakeshop  in  the  Via 
Tornabuoni  and  give  me  a  lunch  because  I  had  gone  off 
early  without  breakfast.  And  to  please  those  children 
I  drank  hot  chocolate  and  melted  my  collar." 

The  girlishness  and  sweetness  had  gone  from  Erica's 
face.  Perhaps  it  had  been  too  long  exiled  to  endure  any 
strain.  Her  lip  curled  in  its  wonted  way  as  she  asked: 
"  Wasn't  it  rather  thoughtless  in  Miss  Melendy  to  take 
Miss  Cotton  out  in  this  heat?  Of  course  she's  a  strap- 
ping young  person  herself,  but  your  daughter  looks  deli- 
cate." 

"  Oh  dear  no,  ma'am,"  he  rejoined,  "  that  little  Miss 
Melendy  is  the  real  thing.  I  believe  I  never  before  knew 
any  one  of  her  age  to  be  so  thoughtful  and  unselfish. 
She  isn't  above  three  years  older  than  Nanny,  yet  in  a 
way  she's  like  a  mother  to  her.  She's  always  looking 
out  for  her,  trying  to  keep  her  from  being  lonesome  and 
to  rouse  her  interest  in  this  and  that.  She  seems  to  know 
just  what  the  child  needs,  which,  I  confess,  her  father 
doesn't.  I'm  perfectly  hopeless.  Last  night  I  felt  right 
down  blue  about  her,  she  seemed  to  have  so  little  strength ; 
and  here  this  morning  she  and  Hank  were  talking  about 
pendants  and  trinkets  as  gay  as  chickadees,  with  a  list 
made  out  as  to  who  gets  what.  And  she's  just  that  way 
with  every  one.  Miss  Melendy  is.  She  chaffs  the  others 
a  good  bit,  but  they  like  it  —  and  her.    Why,  she  even 


136  FIREWEED 

mothers  me.  It  was  she  that  insisted  about  the  choco- 
late." 

The  mere  mention  of  Miss  Melendy  had  dissipated  that 
wonderful  sense  of  well-being  Erica  had  had  from  the 
moment  she  had  first  seen  Cotton  coming  towards  her. 
And  when  he  let  slip  that  chance  but  natural  "  Hank," 
it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  bear  it.  She  knew  that  she 
was  as  foolish  to  venture  now  as  she  had  been  that  day 
in  Paris  when  she  had  talked  so  flippantly  —  or  worse  — 
to  Nancy  Cotton;  but  she  couldn't  help  it.  Erica  Man- 
ners wasn't  used  to  swallowing  her  ill  humor. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  know  Miss  Melendy  at  all,"  she 
observed  coldly,  "  but  dressing  as  she  does  gives  one  the 
impression  that  she's  rather  bold." 

Even  before  the  last  word  was  out  of  her  mouth,  a 
wave  of  hot  color  flooded  her  face.  The  irony  of  it  was 
too  keen.  Good  heavens !  what  would  he  think  of  her ! 
Fancy  her  characterizing  any  one  as  bold,  particularly 
when  speaking  to  the  man  who  three  months  earlier  had 
held  her  up  to  public  contumely  as  the  boldest  of  the 
brazen.  Surely,  it  was  not  for  her  to  bandy  such  terms 
as  that.  As  the  color  died  out,  she  set  her  lips  and  un- 
consciously clenched  her  hands,  bracing  herself  for  a 
scathing  reply. 

Which  showed  how  little  she  knew  the  man  beside  her. 
Caleb  Cotton  had  not  seen  the  flood  of  color,  for  at  her 
first  word,  which  hurt  him,  his  eyes  had  fallen  to  his 
dusty  shoes.  Neither  did  he,  even  secretly,  make  the 
application  she  apprehended.  Both  face  and  voice  were 
gentle  as  he  protested. 

"  But  somehow,  when  you  know  her,  ma'am,  it  seems 
just  to  suit  Miss  Melendy  to  dress  that  way.  I  think 
most  probably  you  are  not  aware  that  she  means  to  study 
to  be  a  doctor?  Surely,  she  won't  need  frills  and  fur- 
belows then.     And    now  —  to    Nanny    and   me,  —  Miss 


FIREWEED  137 

Melendy  looks  right  handsome  in  her  jackets  and  cravats 
and  little  waistcoats,  and  then  — "  he  smiled  naively. 
"  Now  she  has  pockets,"  he  declared  with  an  implied 
appeal  to  her  common  sense.  "  I  never  could  understand 
why  all  women  shouldn't  have,  don't  you  know.  She  car- 
ries a  jackknif e,  which  is  right  convenient,  and  has  a  safe 
place  for  her  wallet.  I  never  understand  why  ladies  don't 
lose  their  money  as  well  as  their  pocket  handkerchiefs, 
which  I  am  told  they  scatter  to  the  four  winds." 

"  Miss  Budd  carries  hers  in  her  stocking,"  returned 
Erica  demurely. 

Cotton  smiled.  He  looked,  however,  as  if  he  had  more 
to  say  about  Miss  Melendy,  and  Erica  hastened  to  ask  if 
he  had  had  a  chance  to  look  into  the  Rubaiyat. 

Cotton  instantly  produced  the  little  volume  from  his 
pocket,  removing  the  neat  cover  in  which  he  had  envel- 
oped it,  bourgeois  fashion,  as  he  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,  I  read  it  through  several 
times,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  lighted. 

"  And  you  liked  it  ?  '*  she  asked  so  eagerly  that  his 
answering  voice  was  apologetic.  He  could  never  speak 
aught  but  the  exact  truth,  but  his  voice  had  the  power  of 
making  even  unpalatable  truth  kindly  and  good  to  hear. 

"  I  enjoyed  reading  it,"  he  admitted.  "  It  is  right 
musical  and  striking  and  melancholy.  And  yet,  you  know, 
it's  not  sound,  —  at  least,  not  to  my  thinking.  That  chap 
got  below  the  surface,  I  grant  you,  but  he  never  once 
touched  bottom." 

Erica's  eyes  flashed.  "  Oh,  but  what  of  this  ?  **  she 
cried  and  quoted : 

"  '  What,  without  asking,  hither  hurried  Whence  ? 
And  without  asking,  Whither  hurried  hence? 

Oh,  many  a  cup  of  the  forbidden  wine 
Must  drown  the  memory  of  that  insolence ! '  " 


138  FIREWEED 

Moved  by  the  rh)^hm,  vaguely  aware  of  an  almost 
lovely  tone  in  her  voice,  Cotton  looked  at  her  with  a 
certain  admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  now,  I  confess  I  don't  feel  that  the  sentiment 
is  as  strong  as  you  plainly  feel  it  to  be,"  he  owned  reluc- 
tantly. "  Sounding  lines,  they  are,  I  grant  you,  but  they 
seem  to  me  not  to  be  pitched  in  the  right  key.  He  doesn't 
take  his  stand  on  a  really  lofty  plane.  Those  lines  are  a 
challenge,  but  that  isn't  heroism  nor  even  genuine 
strength.  It  isn't  asking  for  more  worlds  to  conquer. 
It  isn't  voluntarily  bracing  one's  shoulders  to  bear  a 
cross." 

"  No,  it  isn't  that,"  she  assented,  impressed  by  his 
earnestness,  "  but  —  "  she  paused.  At  the  moment  she 
didn't  know  what  it  was. 

"  I  can't  make  myself  feel  that  a  strong  man  would 
have  so  spoken,"  he  went  on,  knitting  his  brow  until 
heavy  lines  came  out.  "  I  could  easier  see  the  strong  man 
as  grateful  to  be  fetched  from  eternity  and  set  down  in  a 
place  where  all  the  glory  of  struggle  lies  between  him  and 
the  mystery  he  faces.  Insolence !  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  it 
isn't,  believe  me,  a  great  soul  that  whines  thus !  It  isn't 
a  man.     It's  a  cry-baby." 

Erica  gazed  into  the  blue  distance  beyond  the  garden 
wall,  moved,  as  it  might  have  seemed,  out  of  all  propor- 
tion. Then  she  glanced  rather  shyly  at  the  man  before 
her,  with  his  massive  brow  lined  with  care,  his  thin  face 
worn  in  hollows  by  the  struggle  he  himself  had  made 
against  odds,  yet  with  his  eyes  shining  with  the  ardor  of 
untried  youth.  Her  eyes  fell  before  them.  She  shrank 
back,  daunted  for  once.  He  seemed  far  away  —  high 
above  her,  standing  on  lofty  heights,  with  a  great  yawning 
gulf  between  him  and  such  as  she. 

In  the  long  pause  which  fell  upon  them,  she  considered 
the  words  he  had  spoken,  fearful  of  losing  one  syllable, 


FIREWEED  139 

longing  to  retain  them  for  days  to  come.  And  so  doing, 
she  felt  like  a  child  whose  toys  are  taken  away  and  a 
stern  lesson-book  substituted.  So  that,  like  such  an  one 
that  has  concealed  a  favorite  toy  behind  him  and  must 
neelds  bring  forth  that  also,  Erica  yielded  up  hers. 

"  There's  one  other  stanza  I  have  always  cared  for 
particularly.  I  wonder  how  you  would  feel  about  that  ?  " 
she  said  in  a  low  voice  and  with  a  curious,  gentle  humil- 
ity.    "  It  seems  rather  —  human  and  —  kind" 

Her  voice  faltered  here  and  there  as  she  quoted  the 
second  time : 

"  *  Ah  love !  could  you  and  I  with  Him  conspire 
To  grasp  this  sorry  Scheme  of  things  entire. 
Would  we  not  shatter  it  to  bits  —  and  then 
Remould  it  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire?  '  " 

As  he  shook  his  head,  Cotton  smiled  kindly. 

"  It  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  he  said.  "  If  we  tried  to  re- 
shape it  to  make  it  better  for  our  fellow  human  beings, 
we'd  blunder  sadly.  If  we  did  it  truly  after  our  heart's 
desire,  we  shouldn't  alter  it.  You  know  really  we  do 
not  hanker  for  flowery  beds  of  ease.  That's  a  big  fal- 
lacy. It's  no  such  thing;  we  don't  want  flowery  beds 
of  ease.  Man  isn't  that  sort  of  an  animal.  Ask  a  real 
man  any  day  which  he  would  prefer :  riding  fifty  or  sixty 
miles  over  smooth  macadam  roads  in  the  easiest  motor- 
car on  the  market,  or  footing  it,  climbing  for  all  he's 
worth  to  the  summit  of  a  steep,  trackless  mountain. 
Most  any  man  would  prefer  the  climb.  The  only  ones 
who  wouldn't  choose  it  would  be  those  that  didn't  under- 
stand themselves,  didn't  know  what  they  really  crave. 
The  poor  are  often  fortunate  in  being  forced  to  endure 
hardship,  for  the  rich  are  seldom  canny  enough  to  choose 
it  voluntarily.  The  longing  for  ease  and  pleasure  isn't 
natural   to   man.     As   far  as  my  experience   goes,   the 


I40  FIREWEED 

opposite  extreme,  even  martyrdom,  appeals  more  strongly 
to  him.  Of  course  I  have  known  mostly  plain  people, 
but  the  testimony  of  history  confirms  the  conclusions  I 
have  drawn  from  my  observations,  that  there  isn't  really 
a  quarter  part  of  the  allurement  in  a  crown  that  there  is 
in  a  cross." 

Strange  talk,  indeed!  Old-fashioned  doctrine!  But 
in  all  her  life.  Erica  Manners  had  never  been  so  moved. 
Stirred  to  the  depths,  she  was  conscious  of  a  strange,  a 
thrilling  excitement.  She  seemed  to  herself  to  have  ex- 
perienced an  upheaval  of  her  inner  life.  And  she  seemed 
to  be  gazing  upon  the  ruins  with  a  sensation  of  intense 
relief  that  might  have  been  joy  had  it  been  less  solemn. 
She  did  not  understand  what  had  happened,  could  not 
realize  that  she  had  discovered  —  or  had  pointed  out  to 
her  —  the  root  of  her  lifelong  malady.  But  even  now 
she  knew  dimly  that  she  had  a  glimpse  of  a  possible  new 
life  that  was  fine,  bracing,  even  heroic,  —  a  life  that  wasn't 
beyond  her  aim,  however  it  might  be  for  her  reach. 

They  sat  silent  for  some  minutes.  Erica's  eyes  down- 
cast. Then  she  rose.  He  stood  beside  her,  looking  down 
from  his  great  height. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  —  saying  it  to  me. 
No  one  has  ever  spoken  so  to  me  before  and  —  I  should 
never  discover  fine,  brave  things  like  that  for  myself. 
It  is  very  good  of  you  and  —  it  has  given  me  a  lot  to 
think  of.  And  even  now  —  do  you  know  —  "  she  raised 
her  eyes  with  a  little  half  smile  —  "  even  now,  I  feel  as 
if  it  might  be  —  why,  rather  good  sport  to  —  to  try  — 
oh,  I  don't  know  what  unless  to  —  foot  it  up  the 
mountain ! " 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Erica  Manners  read  at  a  glance  the  meaning  of  the 
look  on  Elizabeth  Lancaster's  face  as  she  entered  the 
room;  —  she  was  mentally  bracing  herself  to  endure 
being  bullied.  Miss  Lancaster  might  have  looked  so 
any  number  of  times  before,  and  Erica's  regard  have  been 
uniformly  careless.  In  any  event,  it  was  plain  to-day, 
and  she  caught  her  breath. 

In  a  flash,  she  realized  that  that  was  what  she  had 
been  —  a  bully.  She  had  made  life  wretched  for  her 
companion  ever  since  they  had  left  America.  The  real- 
ization that  she  had  become  a  person  whose  mere  entrance 
was  indeed  to  be  dreaded  struck  painfully  upon  her 
exalted  mood,  and  not  less  so  her  instinctive  impulse  to 
say  something  sharp  and  hateful,  —  to  give  Miss  Lancas- 
ter just  what  she  apprehended. 

It  was  quite  unlike  her  to  make  the  considerable  effort 
to  conquer  the  impulse  and  to  ask,  pleasantly  casual,  what 
Libby  had  been  up  to  that  morning. 

Miss  Lancaster  responded  pleasantly,  implying  that 
Erica's  graciousness  was  a  matter  of  course.  But  Erica 
knew  half  humorously,  half  irritably,  that  she  suspected 
the  Greeks  dona  ferentes.  Again,  she  swallowed  the 
bitter  pill. 

"  That's  a  lot  for  one  morning,  sure,"  she  remarked. 
"  However,  if  one  feels  well,  one  can  do  it  easily.  Now, 
I  begin  to  feel  so  much  better  myself,  Libby.  I  have 
been  so  —  " 

141 


142  FIREWEED 

Beginning  to  descant  upon  the  wretched  nervousness 
she  had  suffered  under,  Erica  checked  herself. 

"  Never  mind  that,"  she  began  again.  "  At  any  rate, 
I  am  going  out  more  after  this.  After  all,  I  don't  mind 
if  I  see  things  I  have  seen  over  and  over  again.  And  it  is 
rather  absurd  to  come  to  Europe  and  confine  oneself  to 
hotel  gardens  and  railway  carriages,  isn't  it?  Like  as 
not  I  shall  swing  so  far  the  other  way  that  I  shall  even 
take  Mrs.  Miles's  favorite  orientation  jaunts!" 

She  laughed,  half  appealingly.  Then  she  sighed.  If 
only  she  had  gone  straight  to  her  room  from  that  gracious 
half  hour  in  the  garden !  But  now  she  might  as  well 
go  on. 

"  There's  a  monastery  across  the  river  somewhere  that 
Aunt  Rose  and  I  visited  when  I  was  fifteen,  that  I  think 
you  would  like  to  see,  Libby.  Suppose  we  take  a  car- 
riage and  go  this  afternoon?  Would  you  like  to?"  she 
proposed. 

Miss  Lancaster's  heart  sank.  She  wanted  to  go  to 
Fiesole  —  but  without  Mrs.  Manners. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  feel  able  to  do  it,  Erica  ?  "  she  pro- 
tested feebly. 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,  Libby.  As  I  remember  it,  it's  rather 
a  lark.  The  carriage  leaves  us  way  down  below  some- 
where, and  we  walk  up  a  steep  path  with  a  hundred 
steps,  more  or  less,  cut  in  the  rock.  Are  you  good 
for  it?" 

Picking  up  a  letter,  which  chanced  to  be  from  Stokes, 
from  the  table,  she  balanced  it  absently  on  the  palm  of 
her  hand  as  if  to  ascertain  its  weight. 

Miss  Lancaster  craned  her  long  neck  in  her  annoying 
way.  But  Erica  was  determined  she  would  not  be  an- 
noyed, 

"  Well,"  Miss  I^ncaster  remarked  finally  in  a  resigned 
tone,  "  perhaps  if  we  take  it  very  easily,  it  won't  be  too 


FIREWEED  143 

much  of  a  strain  on  my  ankle.  But  you,  Erica  ?  I  doubt 
if  you  realize  what  an  extremely  hot  day  it  is.  Even 
Hank  Melendy  crawfished,  as  they  called  it,  out  of  going 
to  the  mosaic  works  this  morning,  and  she's  supposed  to 
be  the  best  sport  of  the  whole  bunch." 

"  Who  said  she  was  ?  "  demanded  Erica,  tearing  the 
letter  into  bits. 

"  The  oracle." 

"  Who's  the  oracle  ?  "  Erica  inquired  casually,  though 
she  knew  right  well. 

"  Caleb  Cotton,  Esquire,"  said  Miss  Lancaster  with 
what  seemed  to  Erica  tiresome  flippancy.  She  betook 
herself  abruptly  into  her  own  room  and  closed  the  door. 

Dropping  into  a  chair,  she  realized  that  all  her  false 
elation  had  dissipated  and  she  was  nervous  and  irritable 
—  even  angry.  Good  Lord,  what  was  the  use!  What 
was  the  use  of  anything!  How  absolutely  absurd  to  be 
going  oflE  in  the  heat  to  climb  that  fiendish  hill  in  the 
glaring  sun  and  suffer  a  greedy  old  brother  in  greasy 
white  serge  to  lead  them  hither  and  thither  and  up  and 
down,  finally  vouchsafing,  as  a  special  touch  of  grace,  a 
glimpse  through  closed  doors  of  other  fat,  dingy,  greasy 
monks  mumbling  their  prayers  into  their  hoods.  And 
why,  pray,  should  one  care  to  be  called  a  good  sport  — 
even  the  best  in  the  company?  Even  if  she  should  go 
to  the  Certosa  this  afternoon,  and  even  if  Mr.  Cotton 
should  hear  of  it  —  which  was  unlikely  —  he  wouldn't 
probably  attach  any  significance  to  it.  He  might  think 
it  only  a  pose. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  then  uncovered  it 
hastily.  Ah!  if  only  he  did  not  know  her  so  well!  If 
only  she  were  not  dragged  down  by  that  wretched  past 
of  hers !  Suppose  she  had  met  Cotton  in  Paris  that  morn- 
ing for  the  first  time,  on  a  plain,  fair  footing?  If  they 
could  have  encountered  one  another  as  strangers  jvist 


144  FIREWEED 

as  he  and  the  Melendy  girl  had  done,  what  a  difference  it 
must  have  made!  They  could  have  become  friends  — 
unconventional  friends,  as  he  and  Miss  Melendy  were,  — 
he  had  called  her  Hank  unawares  when  speaking  of  her. 
After  all,  she.  Erica,  was  lonely,  terribly  lonely,  and  there 
was  no  use  in  pretending,  —  he  was  truly  very  likable. 
He  was  original  and  quaint  and  droll,  and  —  somehow, 
he  made  things  —  life  —  seem  worth  while. 

It  would  have  been  good  for  him,  too,  Erica  declared, 
very  much  as  if  she  were  contradicting  some  one,  better 
than  for  him  to  foregather  constantly  with  the  others. 
She  had  had  more  experience  than  any  one  of  them  and 
should  have,  correspondingly,  more  personality.  Also, 
she  ought  to  have  keener  sense  of  humor  and  a  more 
practised  if  not  a  subtler  intellect.  In  short,  she  was 
more  his  kind.  She  wasn't,  perhaps,  many-sided  enough 
to  satisfy  the  demands  of  his  big,  broad,  deep  nature; 
but  surely  she  could  go  further  towards  it  than  any  of 
the  Burgess  party. 

Impotent,  baffled,  protesting.  Erica  Manners  forced 
back  the  tears  that  burned  her  lids,  and  rising,  gazed 
stonily  out  of  the  window.  She  saw  only  the  gray  plaster 
walls  of  the  house  on  the  further  side  of  the  Via  Magenta 
which  looked  stem  and  forbidding.  It  was  too  late,  she 
told  herself  bitterly :  everything  was  cut  close  at  the  root. 
She  might  as  well  leave  Italy  at  once.  The  sensible  pro- 
cedure for  her  was  to  make  tracks  for  America  and 
resume  with  all  speed  her  dreary  existence  of  monotonous 
days  and  endless  nights,  with  Delia  Holbrook  as  croaking 
chorus,  and  Phil  Stokes  as  perpetual  gloomy  suitor.  That 
would  be  purgatory,  indeed ;  even  so  it  was  preferable  to 
this  nerve-racking  struggle,  which  was  hell  itself.  Erica 
told  herself  she  would  announce  her  purpose  to  Miss 
Lancaster  at  luncheon  and  get  her  to  begin  packing  that 
afternoon. 


FIREWEED  I4S 

When  she  went  into  the  sitting  room,  however,  and 
Miss  Lancaster  asked  hesitatingly  about  ordering  a  car- 
riage for  the  Certosa,  she  said  simply  that  they  would  go 
at  four. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  they  drove  down  the  shaded 
street  and  turned  into  the  glare  of  the  piazza  and  the 
bridge.  Across  the  Arno,  they  threaded  the  narrow 
streets  and  emerged  upon  the  dusty,  unshaded  highway, 
toiling  slowly  upward  past  villas  and  vineyards  with  mag- 
nificent distances  to  right  and  left,  climbing  still  up  and 
up  until  they  reached  the  gate  of  entrance  into  the  Car- 
thusian territory.  Here,  they  descended  and  dismissed 
the  driver. 

As  they  drove.  Erica  had  rambled  on  entertainingly  of 
her  remembrance  of  her  former  visit.  Miss  Lancaster, 
suspicious  of  her  unwonted  good  humor,  had  been  less 
responsive  than  she  would  ordinarily  have  ventured  to 
be.  As  they  were  about  to  begin  the  steep  ascent,  she 
looked  vaguely  over  towards  the  Western  horizon,  though 
only  because  that  happened  to  be  more  clearly  visible. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  doing  Fiesole  in  great  style,"  she 
remarked  in  a  non-committal  tone  that  might  have  suited 
almost  any  mood  of  her  companion. 

"  I  dare  say.  I  shouldn't  mind  looking  over  from  here 
and  seeing  just  what  they're  up  to,"  Erica  returned,  al- 
lowing her  eyes  to  rest  for  some  seconds  upon  the  quarter 
of  the  heavens  that  in  reality  hung  over  Fiesole.  She 
spoke  quietly,  puzzling  Miss  Lancaster  as  to  her  drift. 
Secretly,  saying  they,  she  meant  he;  and  half  wistfully, 
half  bitterly,  she  wished  it  might  be  possible  that  he  was 
thinking  of  her  at  that  moment,  no  matter  how  casually. 
But  she  didn't  flatter  herself  that  there  was  any  remote 
chance  of  his  wondering  what  she  was  up  to. 

As  a  matter  of  fact.  Cotton  had  at  that  moment  for- 
gotten that  such  a  person  existed,  even  though  he  had 


146  FIREWEED 

been  emphatically  reminded  of  her  not  many  hours  pre- 
viously. 

After  Mrs.  Manners  had  left  him  in  the  garden  that 
morning,  he  had  mused  for  some  little  time  upon  their 
conversation.  Since  he  had  come  upon  her  in  Paris,  he 
had  found  little  difficulty  in  holding  to  the  purpose  he 
had  at  once  conceived  of  not  reverting  even  in  thought 
to  the  past  that  was  common  to  them.  Believing  it  wiser 
and  more  comfortable  for  both  of  them  that  they  should 
not  come  into  unnecessary  contact,  though  he  had  made 
no  effort  to  avoid  her,  he  had  been  quite  content  that 
circumstances  had  acted  to  keep  them  apart  to  a  consid- 
erable extent.  When  he  had  seen  her,  he  had  had  need 
at  first  to  summon  forth  his  charity ;  but  of  late  it  had  not 
been  called  into  play.  Yet,  up  to  within  a  few  days,  his 
attitude  towards  her  had  been  at  best  that  of  kindly 
tolerance. 

Of  late,  however,  and  to-day  in  particular,  something 
in  her  had  appealed  to  his  genuine  interest.  And  now 
he  wondered  if  perchance  he  had  not  heretofore  taken  it 
too  much  for  granted  that  Mrs.  Manners  was  hopelessly 
spoiled,  incurably  selfish.  Surely  to-day  he  had  felt  in 
her  a  reaching  out  towards  something  beyond  herself,  a 
groping  towards  something  different  and  not  ignoble. 
There  had  been  something  almost  touching  about  that 
last  little  speech. 

He  had  known  for  some  time  that  she  had  a  singularly 
bright  mind;  now  he  realized  that  she  had  a  conscience, 
however  long  it  had  remained  in  abeyance.  If  she  had 
had  other  upbringing,  indeed,  he  could  see  how  singularly 
attractive  she  might  have  been.  As  it  was,  she  was  dif- 
ferent from  any  woman  he  had  ever  known. 

As  to  that,  perhaps  Caleb  Cotton's  field  of  comparison 
was  more  limited  than  he  was  aware.  He  had,  indeed, 
known  many  women  and  a  few  intimately,  but  not  of 


FIREWEED  147 

late.  Since  his  maturity  the  greater  number  of  those 
with  whom  he  had  to  do  had  been  the  wronged  or  sinning 
members  of  the  sex  who  come  before  the  courts.  But 
though  that  sufficed  for  the  lawyer,  there  might  be  ques- 
tion with  regard  to  the  man. 

His  mother,  who  had  been  his  inspiration,  had  been  a 
fine,  strong  creature,  pioneer  daughter  of  pioneers,  with- 
out the  family  traditions  of  her  husband,  yet  infinitely 
superior  to  him  and  his.  But  she  had  died,  worn  out 
prematurely  by  toil  and  drudgery  shortly  after  he  had 
left  home,  —  when  she  was  two-and-thirty  and  the  boy 
fourteen. 

His  wife,  his  pitying  affection  for  whom  he  had  taken 
—  and  still  mistook  —  for  love,  had  been  a  distant  rela- 
tive on  his  father's  side.  Frail  as  a  girl,  she  had  been 
a  suffering,  fretful  invalid  from  the  birth  of  their  child 
to  the  day  of  her  death.  He  had  devoted  himself  tire- 
lessly to  her,  working  to  the  limit  of  his  extraordinary 
strength  to  meet  the  constantly  augmenting  expenses  of 
the  household.  Pitying  her  weakness  ever  more  and 
more,  never  becoming  callous  to  her  constant  complaints, 
he  had  never  ceased  to  strive  to  divert  her,  to  help  her 
while  away  the  weary  hours  and  restless  nights.  And 
when  she  had  died,  he  had  mourned  her  sadly,  never  real- 
izing that  what  he  missed  was  not  the  wife  of  his  bosom, 
but  the  daily  care,  the  burden  that  had  both  bowed  and 
braced  his  shoulders. 

Since  coming  East,  the  friends  he  had  made  were 
wholly  men.  But  joining  the  Burgess  party,  suddenly  all 
was  reversed.  He  had  been  thrown  into  the  company  of 
seven  women,  all  but  one  of  whom  were  from  the  Middle 
West  and  represented  the  section,  the  speech  and  the 
ways  that  meant  home  to  him.  And  it  had  indeed  been 
like  home-coming  to  his  weary  soul  to  be  made  so  warmly 
welcome  by  these  kindly,  genuine  folk,  to  hear  phrases 


148  FIREWEED 

and  intonations  that  recalled  so  vividly  early  friends  and 
neighbors  and  the  associations  of  the  plastic  period  of 
youth,  that  it  was  a  matter  of  a  few  days  only  before  the 
strange  faces  were  gratefully  familiar. 

The  squire  of  all  the  party,  Caleb  Cotton,  when  free 
to  choose,  instinctively  sought  Miss  Melendy's  side. 
They  were  attracted  by  the  same  things,  were  almost 
equally  tireless  and  possessed  the  abnormal  power  of 
absorption  sometimes  found  in  the  extravagantly  unself- 
ish. Furthermore,  a  common  concern  for  Nancy  united 
them  as  the  days  passed. 

His  newly  awakened  interest  in  Mrs.  Manners,  however, 
was  in  a  category  by  itself,  and  he  would  have  been  at  a 
loss  to  explain  it.  His  conclusion  that  she  was  different, 
however,  was  sound  so  far  as  it  went.  Erica  Manners  was 
different;  —  there  was  an  exquisite  finish  about  her,  not 
only  physical  and  material  but  also  intellectual,  above 
that  of  any  other  woman  he  had  ever  known.  She  had 
lived  exquisitely  all  her  life ;  and  if,  from  the  standpoint 
of  morals,  she  displayed  the  effects  in  an  unfortunate 
way,  she  showed  them  physically,  on  the  contrary,  in  the 
perfection  of  the  physical,  and  intellectually,  in  a  piquant 
cleverness  that  in  many  instances  outshone  more  solid 
gifts.  Furthermore,  she  possessed  a  something  which 
might  easily  in  other  circumstances  have  been  charm,  and 
which,  as  it  was,  amounted  to  personality,  and  she  exerted 
herself  to  please  him  as  she  had  never  in  all  her  life 
exerted  herself  for  any  human  being  other  than  herself. 

Some  vague  suggestion  of  all  this  came  to  Caleb  Cot- 
ton that  day  as  he  lingered  in  the  garden  until  the  lunch- 
eon hour  found  him  still  in  his  unreadiness.  But  as  he 
began  to  go  back  in  his  mind  and  recall  details,  suddenly 
he  went  too  far,  and  all  that  past  which  he  had  hitherto 
succeeded  so  well  in  disregarding  came  rushing  back  to 
him.     He  grasped  instinctively  at  his  forgotten  charity, 


FIREWEED  149 

but  even  so,  he  defeated  his  own  purpose.  For  he  opened 
his  eyes,  as  it  were,  at  just  the  wrong  moment.  As  he 
endeavored  to  steer  aside  from  visions  of  the  court-room, 
something  he  had  quite  forgotten  flashed  involuntarily 
and  suddenly  into  full  view,  shooting  across  his  mental 
vision  with  the  unexpectedness  of  a  meteor ;  —  he  recol- 
lected the  forgotten  fact  that  there  had  been  a  child. 
He  remembered  the  baby  that  had  died  Unloved  and  un- 
mothered.  And  that  remembrance  came  with  a  real,  with 
even  a  great  shock.  He  did  not  realize  that  the  circum- 
stance seemed  far  worse  now  than  it  had  formerly  im- 
pressed him.  He  made  no  distinction.  But  he  was  filled 
with  a  sternness  of  indignation  that  was  almost  contempt. 
It  was  unfortunate  for  Mrs.  Manners  that  it  should 
have  come  upon  him  at  this  moment,  when  he  still  seemed 
to  hear  the  regretful  echoes  of  her  voice  lingering  over 
the  complaint: 

"  And  that  same  summer  month  that  brings  the  rose 
Shall  take  Jamshyd  and  Kaikobad  away." 

And  circumstance  made  it  doubly  unfortunate.  For  as 
he  bowed  his  head  in  a  sort  of  dumb  protest,  he  was 
forced  to  raise  it  almost  immediately  by  hearing  his  name 
spoken  by  Dr.  Burgess. 

His  face  resumed  its  usual  serenity;  but  perhaps  he 
felt  called  upon  to  explain  his  posture,  for  he  smiled  in 
a  somewhat  rueful  fashion  as  the  other  man  joined  him 
on  the  bench  where  he  had  found  Mrs.  Manners. 

"  You  know.  Doctor,  far  better  than  I,"  he  began,  "  that 
there  are  certain  facts  that  were  understood  to  be  facts 
in  the  day  of  Jeremiah,  which,  nevertheless,  every  man 
jack  of  us  has  to  rediscover  for  himself.  Human  nature 
is  more  inexplicable  —  it's  more  contrary  than  a  mule, 
that's  what  it  is!  For  example,  I  can  never  understand 
why,  having  all  the  gifts  of  fortune  and  heritage,  with 


I50  FIREWEED 

all  their  attendant  advantages,  a  person,  a  man,  isn't 
thereby  the  more  of  a  man.  Of  course  I  have  been  told 
from  my  childhood  that  prosperity  is  no  sort  of  teacher. 
I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  that  most  people  learn 
through  hardship  and  adversity,  and  that  the  straight  and 
narrow  way  is  the  safest  to  travel.  And  do  you  know, 
for  all  that,  I  find  I  don't  believe  it  yet,  I  am  constantly 
taken  by  surprise  when  one  born  with  a  golden  spoon  in 
his  mouth  is  spoiled  by  the  taste  of  the  metal.  And  yet 
—  wouldn't  it  seem  to  be  as  fixed  as  an  axiom  of  Euclid 
that  the  principle  of  *  Freely  ye  have  received,  freely 
give '  should  apply  first  of  all  to  the  prosperous  ?  And 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  it's  commonly  only  the  poor  who  take 
it  to  themselves." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  perplexing  subject,"  responded  Dr. 
Burgess  in  rather  a  perfunctory  manner.  He  rose 
abruptly  from  the  seat. 

"  It's  singular  that  I  should  find  you  thinking  along 
that  line,  however,"  he  said  less  absently,  "  for  it  bears  on 
what  I  want  to  consult  you  about.  Do  you  mind  walking 
up  into  the  Cascine  for  a  little?  We  shan't  start  until 
half  past  three,  so  we  can  have  a  late  lunch." 

Cotton  forgot  his  disheveled  appearance,  which  was 
really  less  noticeable  than  he  thought,  and  agreed  quietly. 
They  walked  up  the  Via  del  Prato  with  its  jingling  trams, 
passed  under  the  arch  at  the  head  of  the  street,  and  on 
into  the  broad  walks  of  the  Cascine.  As  they  advanced, 
the  trees  were  fine  and  spreading  and  screened  the  sun, 
but  the  air  was  oppressive  and  the  absence  of  turf  and 
the  appearance  of  the  baked  earth  made  it  seem  the  hotter 
and  look  bare  and  forlorn  to  the  eyes  of  the  Americans. 

"  I  want  your  advice  sorely,"  declared  Dr.  Burgess  as 
they  struck  into  a  path  which  led  by  a  number  of  tennis 
courts  which  seemed  to  be  privately  owned  and  probably 
belonged  to  clubs.    "  I  am  not  —  " 


FIREWEED  151 

At  that  instant,  a  tennis  ball  came  singing  through  the 
air  towards  them  like  a  bullet.  Quick  as  a  flash,  Cotton 
had  reached  out  and  caught  it  on  the  fly  with  his  left 
hand.  Changing  to  the  other,  he  tossed  it  nonchalantly 
over  the  wall  to  an  handsome  Italian  youth  in  white 
flannels,  whose  face  glowed  with  wonder  and  admiration 
at  the  stranger's  feat. 

Dr.  Burgess  slapped  him  on  the  back. 

"  You  are  a  brick.  Cotton,  and  no  mistake !  "  he  cried. 
"  And  that  was  only  your  left  hand.  See  here,  I  want 
your  right." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

"  As  I  was  saying,  or  as  I  was  about  to  say,"  Dr.  Bur- 
gess resumed  after  the  interruption,  "  I  am  not  asking 
you  on  the  ground  that  the  person  in  question,  who  is 
Mrs.  Manners,  comes  also  from  St.  Vincent,  but  simply 
because  you  are  one  of  us,  and  because  I  rely  absolutely 
upon  your  judgment,  —  as  how  should  I  not?" 

Cotton  uttered  a  slight  interjection. 

"  Mrs.  Manners  ?  "  he  repeated  in  a  strange  and  inter- 
rogatory, not  to  say  deprecatory  way. 

"  Yes,  Cotton,  Mrs.  Manners.  She  doesn't  seem  to  be 
what  we  call  in  the  West  a  mixer.  She's  rather  a  misfit 
for  our  party." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  Cotton  remarked  in  his  plebeian  way 
which  would  once  have  moved  the  lady  in  question  to 
scornful  merriment.  "  I  confess  I  am  rather  taken  aback. 
I  sort  of  thought  that  —  the  association  was  doing  her 
good.  Do  I  understand  you  that  she  has  been  inding 
fault?" 

"  Not  exactly,  but  —  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is 
that  it  was  an  unlucky  day  for  our  party  when  she  joined. 
You  don't,  I  see,  realize  what's  been  going  on.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  during  the  time  she  has  been  with  us, 
Mrs.  Manners  has  made  herself  persona  non  grata  to 
every  other  member  of  the  party,  with  the  possible  excep- 
tion of  yourself  and  Miss  Nancy." 

"  Just  so,"  remarked  Cotton  with  a  tone  at  variance 
with  the  words.  "  Unconsciously,  you  mean  to  infer?  I 
had  the  impression  she  rather  tried  to  be  agreeable." 

152 


FIREWEED  153 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Cotton,  she  has,  I  regret  to  say,  not 
only  flatly  rejected  all  friendly  overtures  but  deliberately 
gone  out  of  her  way  to  be  rude  to  more  than  one  of  the 
ladies.  Two  of  them  came  to  me  last  night  to  ask  if 
something  could  not  be  done  about  it  before  the  whole 
trip  is  spoiled  because  of  one  person." 

It  seemed  inconceivable.  But  Dr.  Burgess  was  author- 
ity for  it.  And  Cotton  felt  absolutely  assured  that  if  any 
member  of  the  original  party  had  said  Mrs.  Manners  was 
rude,  she  must  have  been  rude,  indeed.  At  the  same 
time,  he  couldn't  understand  it. 

Dr.  Burgess  waited  a  few  moments  rather  expecting  his 
companion  to  speak.     Then  he  went  on. 

"  It  is  rather  hard  on  the  other  ladies,  you  know.  Cot- 
ton. Some  of  them  have  earned  the  money  for  this  holi- 
day, and  I  believe  all  of  them,  with  the  exception  of  Miss 
Melendy  and  Mrs.  Miles,  have  saved  for  it  with  more  or 
less  sacrifice.  And  I  can't  help  feeling  that  they  have 
an  especial  right  to  be  relieved  of  petty  annoyance.  Up 
to  the  moment  we  took  in  the  two  strangers,  this  group 
was  the  pleasantest  party  I  ever  had.  They  welcomed 
Mrs.  Manners  into  their  midst  with  all  kindness,  —  per- 
haps with  effusiveness  "  —  he  smiled  rather  grimly  for 
him  — "  But  she  spurned  their  friendliness.  She  has 
used  the  party  as  a  convenience  in  getting  about,  but  in 
all  her  relations  towards  us  she  has  been  unpardonable. 
Personally,  I  regretted  it  the  day  after  I  had  taken  her 
in." 

He  drew  out  his  watch,  and  seeing  the  hour,  proposed 
that  they  turn  back. 

"  The  question  is,"  he  said,  "  what's  to  be  done  about 
it?" 

Cotton's  face  was  troubled,  even  pained.  But  he  spoke 
without  hesitation. 

"  Well,  now,  Doctor,  it's  certainly  a  great  pity,  but  so 


154  FIREWEED 

far  as  I  can  see,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do.  You  have 
only  to  say  to  Mrs.  Manners  that  it  seems  to  be  against 
the  best  interests  of  the  party  that  she  should  continue  as 
a  member  of  it.  It  isn't  at  all,  you  know,  as  it  would  be 
if  she  had  had  to  earn  her  money,  or  as  if  she  hadn't 
a-plenty  more,  and  more  than  a-plenty.  And  it  isn't  as  if 
she  were  alone.  She  has  her  nurse,  who  has  been  with 
her,  I  believe,  for  some  little  time  and  suits  her  to  a  T, 
and  who  seems  to  be  perfectly  chipper  again  now.  Fur- 
thermore, Mrs.  Manners  is  herself  a  capable  woman  of 
the  world.  And  if  she  still  wishes  to  be  conducted,  why, 
there's  no  end  of  those  tourist  chaps  that  will  be  glad  of 
the  job." 

A  great  burden  seemed  to  roll  from  Dr.  Burgess's 
shoulders.  He  had  apprehended  that  Cotton's  good 
humor  and  his  abounding  charity  would  plead  for  Mrs. 
Manners,  the  more  that  she  stood  alone  with  all  the  others 
arrayed  against  her.  His  expression  changed  so  quickly 
that  his  handsome,  florid  face  was  almost  jubilant. 

"  Of  course.  Cotton.  Of  course.  You're  just  right  as 
you  always  are ! "  he  exclaimed  warmly. 

"Come  now,  Doctor,  between  ourselves,"  pleaded  Cot- 
ton in  his  droll  fashion. 

"  I  can  simply  inform  Mrs.  Manners  that  my  specialty 
is  people  who  come  abroad  for  the  first  time,"  the  clergy- 
man went  on,  thinking  aloud  in  an  eager  manner  that 
showed  his  relief.  "  I  only  pretend  to  give  a  very  general 
introduction  to  Europe.  I  can't  take  my  parties  behind 
the  scenes  as  one  should  who  presumes  to  guide  real 
travelers.  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  look  up  a  courier 
for  her  and  to  make  no  charges  for  my  services  up  to 
this  time.  I  consider  I  am  getting  out  of  it  easily  at 
that." 

As  they  passed  under  the  arch,  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
mopped  his  brow. 


FIREWEED  155 

"  I  am  more  than  relieved  and  correspondingly  grateful 
to  you,  Mr.  Cotton,"  he  declared.  "  I  was  prepared  to 
act  in  any  way  you  might  propose,  but  I  confess  I  am  well 
content  that  you  should  have  acquiesced  in  my  instinctive 
decision.  I  never  had  any  real  unpleasantness  before  in 
any  party  I  have  conducted ;  and  as  I  said,  I  never  had  a 
group  of  people  I  liked  better  or  wished  more  to  please. 
I  shall  put  this  through  at  my  first  opportunity,  I  should 
be  gla!d  to  get  it  off  my  mind  before  I  get  to  bed  to-night." 


CHAPTER   XV 

The  others,  who  had  come  by  tram,  were  at  the  church 
across  the  square.  Miss  Melendy  and  the  Cottons,  who 
had  come  in  a  carriage  because  of  Nancy,  sat  at  a  rickety 
table  in  a  rather  untidy  garden  on  a  terrace  overlooking  a 
wonder  of  hillside,  valley  and  distant  blue  mountains. 
Miss  Melendy  and  Cotton  had  eaten  two  ices  each  —  which 
they  declared  they  wouldn't  have  looked  at  back  home  — 
but  Nancy's  first  was  almost  untouched.  And  Nancy 
made  no  comparisons.  Had  hers  been  ambrosia,  it  would 
have  been  the  same.     She  could  not  have  tasted  it. 

"  Honey,  couldn't  you  manage  to  worry  just  a  mite  of 
it  down  for  the  sake  of  the  coolness  and  the  wetness  ?  " 
urged  her  father.  "  Why,  when  you  were  a  little  thing 
back  in  Buell,  you  would  have  beaten  me  eating  ice  cream 
any  day  if  Cousin  Abby  hadn't  been  so  fearful  of  letting 
you  have  all  you  wanted." 

"  Fiesole  is  so  lovely,  pappy,  and  this  is  such  a  sweet 
spot,"  said  Nancy  with  a  little  catch  of  her  breath,  "  that 
—  I  reckon  it  is  enough  to  take  away  one's  appetite,  isn't 
it,  Hank?" 

"  Sure,"  Hank  asseverated,  looking  into  the  sweet  face 
'shaded  by  the  big  floppy  hat  they  had  bought  in  Paris. 
What  a  picture  the  girl  made  with  her  big  eyes  and  lovely 
mournful  face,  sitting  at  the  edge  of  this  lofty  terrace 
with  the  panorama  of  Tuscany  beyond.  If  only  What's- 
his-name  could  see  her  now !  Could  even  a  Stokes  have 
resisted?  Could  any  mortal  in  his  senses  prefer  Mrs. 
Manners  ? 

IS6 


FIREWEED^,  IS7 

"  Don't  try  to  force  it  down  her,  Mr.  Cotton,  it  cer- 
tainly is  bum,"  she  went  on  in  her  inelegant  way.  "  But 
if  you  are  really  done,  Nanny-goat,  shall  we  walk  on  a 
bit?" 

"  Oh,  Hank,  won't  you  and  pappy  please  go  on  and 
leave  me  here  ?  "  Nancy  begged.  "  I'll  sit  and  look  at  the 
hills  and  you  can  take  all  the  time  you  want.  Honestly, 
I  would  rather  let  this  sink  into  my  mind  than  see  any- 
thing more." 

Again  Miss  Melendy  decided  that  she  should  do  as  she 
liked.  After  Cotton  had  made  her  comfortable  on  a 
bench  in  the  shade  of  the  shop  building,  he  and  Miss 
Melendy  strolled  out  into  the  square,  pausing  with  one 
accord  before  the  pair  of  equestrian  statues  in  the  center, 
where  Victor  Emanuel  H  eternally  holds  the  hand  of 
Garibaldi  in  his  own  firm  grasp.  Cotton  stood  long,  his 
hat  tucked  under  his  arm,  gazing  at  his  hero,  absolutely 
lost  to  all  about  him.  Miss  Melendy,  truly  interested  and 
affected,  nevertheless  after  a  little  shifted  her  gaze, 
though  without  turning  her  head  nor  moving,  to  study 
her  companion's  face. 

He  had  looked  more  tired  this  afternoon  than  she  had 
ever  seen  him  before.  As  he  had  left  Nancy  a  few  mo- 
ments since,  his  brow  was  deeply  furrowed.  Now  it 
was  serene,  —  though  it  hardly  seemed  possible  that  lines 
so  deep  could  have  straightened  out  so  magically.  The 
far-away  look  in  his  blue  eyes  was  made  up  of  wonder 
and  reverence  and  tenderness,  and  his  big,  ugly  mouth  had 
what  seemed  to  the  girl  strange  beauty  of  expression. 
The  man  was  transformed  by  the  potency  of  his  spiritual 
imagination.  On  a  sudden.  Hank  Melendy  turned  her 
head.     Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Perhaps  the  motion  recalled  him,  for  presently  he 
asked  her  if  they  should  go  on.  Taking  the  direction  he 
believed  the  others  to  have  taken,  they  crossed  the  square 


158     -  FIREWEED 

diagonally  towards  the  left,  turned  into  a  street  leading 
by  the  church  and  followed  the  road  it  shortly  became, 
neither  speaking  until  they  had  gone  some  little  distance. 
As  they  climbed  the  long,  winding  hill,  the  wall  at  their 
left  formed  a  parapet  above  a  sheer  green  precipice  where 
olive  trees  found  a  precarious  foothold  above  an  orchard 
that  sloped  far  down  into  the  green  bowl  of  the  valley. 
Beyond  that  they  looked  at  circles  of  hills  shading  from 
green  to  blue  and  rising  higher  and  higher  as  they 
stretched  to  the  far  horizon.  At  their  right,  were  the 
walls  of  villas  and  gardens. 

But  Cotton  was  still  in  the  piazza. 

"  Somehow,  that  alone  seems  worth  coming  across  the 
world  to  see,  doesn't  it,  Miss  Melendy?"  he  said  with 
warm  feeling.  "  There's  a  world  of  meaning  in  those 
clasped  hands." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  *  Oh,  East  is  East  and  West  is 
West '  ?  "  she  asked  shyly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Miss  Melendy,  I'm  a  back 
number  so  far  as  poetry  is  concerned."  And  he  sighed, 
for  the  mention  of  poetry  made  him  feel  vaguely  uncom- 
fortable. 

Miss  Melendy  sighed  too,  then  frowned.  Then  she 
repeated  —  or  rather  blurted  out  the  verses  in  rather  a 
wooden  fashion.  Ordinarily  not  at  all  shy,  she  was 
embarrassed  in  quoting  poetry,  and  her  boyish  voice  was 
brusque  and  jerky.  But  Cotton  was  so  impressed  by  the 
sentiment,  that  he  asked  her  to  repeat  it,  and  the  second 
time  she  did  the  verses  less  injustice. 

Afterwards,  when  he  recalled  it.  Cotton  decided  that 
he  liked  the  way  the  girl  recited  poetry  better  than  that 
of  the  elegant  and  eloquent  Mrs.  Manners.  But  he 
wasn't  sure  he  would  have  thought  of  comparing  them 
if  he  hadn't  heard  what  he  had  from  Dr.  Burgess.  In 
any  event,  he  considered  the  girl's  shyness  in  the  presence 


FIREWEED  159 

of  noble  sentiment  as  a  becoming  and  grateful  tribute,  as 
well  as  another  indication  of  her  being  "  true-blue  "  in 
every  particular. 

Any  such  intimation  would  have  meant  much  to  Miss 
Melendy.  As  it  was,  however,  she  was  quite  content 
with  his  word  of  simple  thanks  and  with  his  appreciation 
of  the  stanza.  She  was  not  thinking  of  herself  nor  of 
the  effect  she  might  make,  and  was  more  than  satisfied  to 
have  been  able  to  give  any  slight  gratification  to  one  who 
gave  so  constantly  and  so  lavishly  of  his  rich  treasure. 

Moreover,  her  mind  was  divided.  She  had  set  her- 
self a  task  to  perform  and  she  could  not  rest  until  it  was 
off  her  mind.  She  rather  hated  to  use  this  precious 
time,  but  if  she  could  so  manage  it  as  to  spoil  only  her 
own  enjoyment  and  not  interrupt  Cotton's,  she  would 
be  content. 

She  had  decided  that  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but 
to  inquire  of  Cotton  himself  concerning  the  mysterious 
Stokes.  She  could  at  least  learn  from  him  whether 
Nancy  knew  him.  The  sight  of  a  figure  before  them  on 
the  white  road  reminded  her  that  the  others  might  be 
upon  them  at  any  moment.  Cotton  paused  to  get  a  spray 
of  leaves  for  Nancy  from  one  of  the  silvery  olives  whose 
top  was  just  below  the  level  of  the  wall.  She  determined 
to  have  the  matter  over  as  soon  as  might  be. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she  remarked  as  he 
overtook  her,  "  a  friend  Mrs.  Miles  called  on  the  other  — 
goodness  me,  don't  tell  me  it  was  only  last  night,  for  it 
couldn't  be." 

"  Mrs.  Miles  was  certainly  making  some  call  or  other 
last  night,"  he  observed.  "  But  there's  certainly  some- 
thing uncanny  about  the  length  of  this  particular  day. 
For  my  part,  I  should  say  it  had  been  twenty-five  hours 
at  the  very  least  since  sunrise." 

His  smile  was  less  droll  than  usual.     There  was  some- 


i6o  FIREWEED 

thing  weary  and  rueful  about  it.  Miss  Melendy  had  to 
pluck  up  more  spirit  before  she  could  go  on. 

"  Anyhow,  the  point  I  wished  to  make  was  this,"  she 
said.  "  This  lady  she  saw  at  the  hotel  in  the  Via  Torna- 
buoni  was  speaking  of  a  young  man  who  comes  from 
your  home,  —  St.  Vincent.  I  thought  —  he  might  be  a 
neighbor,  perhaps.  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  Mr. 
Stokes?" 

As  his  face  lighted  up,  the  girl  felt  like  a  villain. 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Miss  Melendy;  he's  the  junior  member 
of  our  firm,"  he  exclaimed.  "  He's  a  right  fine  fellow, 
Phil  Stokes  is,  and  a  great  favorite  at  our  home." 

Miss  Melendy's  eye  sought  the  farthest  rim  of  pale 
violet  hills. 

"  Is  he  —  anywhere  near  Nancy's  age  ?  "  she  asked 
lamely  without  looking  at  her  companion. 

"  Bless  you,  no.  Miss  Melendy ;  he's  twice  Nanny's 
age,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  The  truth  is,  though  again  I'm 
twice  as  old  as  he,  or  thereabouts,  he  is  rather  a  chum  of 
mine.  He  is  our  neighbor  —  he's  the  most  neighborly 
among  our  new  friends,  and  I  take  solid  comfort  in  his 
visits.  Nanny  likes  him  first  rate,  too,  though  to  her 
young  eyes  he  appears  something  of  an  hoary  oracle,  you 
know.  He  gave  her  a  book  to  read  on  the  steamer  —  he 
takes  a  very  kindly  interest  in  her  —  and  the  child  cher- 
ishes that  book  as  if  it  were  a  Bible  or  prayer-book." 

She  turned  quickly  from  his  smile,  and  paused  a  few 
moments  to  gaze  through  a  little  pierced  bell  tower 
against  the  deep  blue  Tuscan  sky. 

"  I  suppose  he  —  Mr.  Stokes  has  a  future  before  him  ?  " 
she  asked  as  they  went  on. 

Cotton's  brow  clouded.  But  it  never  occurred  to  him 
that  her  interest  in  the  stranger  was  singular. 

"  You  know.  Miss  Melendy,  that's  the  hard  part  of  it,  — 
I  am  afraid  he  hasn't  much  of  a  future  ahead  of  him. 


FIREWEED  i6i 

I  can  speak  of  it  to  you  as  I  wouldn't  to  any  one  who 
knows  him,  or  even  to  Nanny.  Phil  Stokes  is  bright  — 
he's  brilliant,  indeed,  accomplished  and  thoughtful.  He 
might,  I  believe,  reach  almost  any  height  in  the  law ;  but 
he  hasn't  the  least  particle  of  ambition," 

"  In  other  words,  he's  no  hustler." 

"He's  no  hustler." 

"  I  suppose,"  she  opined,  "  things  have  come  too  much 
his  way  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  You  have  hit  it  exactly.  Miss  Melendy. 
They  have,  indeed,  —  all  but  one  thing.  Stokes  never 
learned,  as  most  of  us  have  to,  to  do  without  anything 
he  happened  to  fancy,  and  when  as  a  man  something 
came  up  that  he  wanted  very  much  and  couldn't  have, 
he  didn't  know  how  to  meet  the  situation.  And  if  he 
couldn't  have  that,  he  didn't  want  anything.  I  begin  to 
fear  that  it  has  spoiled  his  life  for  good,  though  I  don't 
like  to  believe  it's  hopeless  yet." 

By  now  they  had  left  the  handsome  villas,  standing 
well  apart  with  their  gardens,  at  their  right,  far  behind 
them.  The  way  narrowed  as  they  approached  a  little 
group  of  peasant  cottages  making  a  tiny  settlement  about 
a  double  bend  in  the  road.  Miss  Melendy  had  one  more 
question  to  put,  after  which,  she  thanked  heaven,  she 
would  be  through  playing  the  hypocrite.  The  girl  hated 
and  had  always  hitherto  avoided  anything  faintly  re- 
sembling double  dealing,  and  though  this  was  all  for 
Nancy,  it  was  extremely  repugnant  to  her.  And  in  asking 
this  last  question,  she  felt  that  she  was  really  abominable. 
She  had  never  before  felt  anything  approaching  fear  of 
Cotton;  but  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  he  should  be 
indignant  at  her  prying  it  would  kill  her. 

"  I  rather  wondered  "  —  she  began,  then  stopped,  for 
she  hadn't  wondered.  She  began  again  and  succeeded 
in    avoiding    direct    untruth,  though  she  knew  all  the 


i62  FIREWEED 

while  that  her  intention  to  deceive  was  quite  as  reprehen- 
sible. 

"  This  lady  —  I  forget  her  name  —  mentioned  Mrs. 
Manners  also  and  said  that  they  —  she  and  Mr.  Stokes 
were  —  acquainted.  Do  you  think  it  might  be  a  polite 
thing  for  Mrs.  Miles  to  mention  it  to  Mrs.  Manners  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Miss  Melendy,  I  wouldn't  have  her  do  that," 
he  responded  so  quickly  that  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said.  It  was  Stokes,  then.  Her  questions  were  an- 
swered. She  felt  like  a  double-dyed  wretch,  but  —  she 
didn't  care !  Miss  Melendy  said  to  herself  she  was  going 
to  forget  everything  and  make  the  most  of  what  remained 
of  the  day  and  the  place. 

The  westering  sun  made  the  remnant  the  loveliest  part 
of  the  day.  As  for  the  place,  —  just  here  it  was  Uirty, 
and  unpleasant  odors  stained  the  air,  but  it  was  very 
picturesque.  On  the  left,  the  declivity  continued,  though 
the  olives  and  much  of  the  nearer  greenness  were  gone. 
On  the  right,  stone-flagged  paths  led  to  tiny  cottages  ap- 
proached by  steep  flights  of  steps  which  alternated  with 
others  which  bordered  directly  on  the  road  without  so 
much  as  a  threshold.  Groups  of  happy,  untidy  women, 
children  and  infants  were  gathered  on  the  steps  and  in 
doorways,  slouching,  sprawling,  chattering  and  laughing 
gaily.  There  was  no  sign  of  industry  anywhere  until 
they  came  to  a  forge  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  at 
the  left  in  the  elbow  of  the  second  curve,  with  a  glow 
from  the  anvil  where  a  stout  old  man  was  shaping  a  bar 
of  iron,  and  at  a  few  rods  distance  on  the  level,  a  woman 
plaiting  straw  on  a  curious  hand-machine. 

The  woman  sat  full  in  the  glare  of  the  sun,  and  they 
saw  that  she  was  blind  and  working  by  touch.  She  was 
so  neglected-looking  and  filthy  that  Miss  Melendy,  though 
filled  with  pity,  shrank  back  in  involuntary  loathing. 
But  Cotton  stopped  and  spoke  gently  to  her,  helped  her 


FIREWEED  163 

to  rise,  moved  the  machine  and  the  chair  back  into  the 
shade  and  led  her  gently  to  it,  speaking  English  all  the 
while,  but  so  gently  and  chivalrously  that  the  woman 
understood  and  poured  out  her  gratitude  in  an  incoherent 
flood  of  Italian. 

And  Miss  Melendy,  who  was  gazing  across  the  deep 
valley  to  the  white  villas  dotting  the  hillsides  beyond,  was 
saying  under  her  breath :  "  Oh,  why  will  you  do  such 
things?  Why  will  you?  Please  don't.  Don't  make  me 
care  —  don't  make  me  lose  my  interest  in  —  things  so 
that  I'll  be  another  Stokes  and  not  care  about  my  career. 
I  could  stand  certain  things,  you  know  —  if  only  you 
wouldn't  do  the  funny,  dear,  absurd  sort  of  things  that 
no  one  else  in  all  the  world  would  dream  of  doing.  I'm 
proof  against  common  goodness,  but  your  sort  —  " 

Which  shows  that  Miss  Melendy  was  forewarned. 

As  he  joined  her,  she  reminded  him  that  it  was  getting 
late  for  Nancy,  and  they  turned.  He  stopped  to  give  a 
piece  of  money  to  the  smith,  making  him  understand  that 
he  was  to  move  the  woman  into  the  shade  in  requital. 
As  he  drew  out  his  huge  silver  watch,  he  uttered  an 
exclamation. 

"  Nancy  won't  mind,"  she  said  rather  softly. 

"  You're  mighty  good  to  my  daughter.  Miss  Melendy," 
he  said  suddenly  and  a  bit  shyly.  "  I  hope  you  under- 
stand something  of  what  it  means  to  me  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Hank.  "  Look,  Mr.  Cotton,  will  you 
see  that  beast ! " 

A  tiny  donkey,  loose  on  the  road,  had  stopped  to  help 
himself  to  a  sprig  of  garlic  from  an  open  window. 

"  No  nonsense  about  it,"  he  declared.  "  Upon  my 
word.  Miss  Melendy,  I  never  before  knew  a  young  per- 
son to  be  so  thoughtful.  It  has  made  me  wonder  —  I 
hope  no  great  sorrow  has  come  into  your  life?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Cotton,  I  have  had  smooth  sailing,"  she  re- 


i64  FIREWEED 

turned,  adding  "  as  yet,"  with  a  sudden  curious  coldness 
at  her  heart  as  if  of  premonition.  Perhaps  it  hadn't 
after  all  been  forewarning. 

"  I  was  too  young  to  feel  my  mother's  death,  and  dad 
and  Aunt  Mary  have  never  allowed  me  to  miss  her  — 
they  have  just  lavished  things  on  me,"  she  continued. 

"  Then  it's  just  a  happy  combination  of  elements  in 
you  that  has  given  you  qualities  that  commonly  come  with 
maturity,  and  seldom  without  sorrow  and  pain,"  he  said 
simply.  "  I'm  right  glad  for  you  that  this  is  so.  Miss 
Melendy.  It's  an  handsome  equipment  for  life.  Get 
your  medical  education,  and  you'll  make  such  a  doctor 
that  I  reckon  your  mother  up  in  heaven  will  feel  joy 
for  it." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,"  the  girl  protested  through  sudden 
tears,  "  please  don't.     I'm  quite  helpless." 

Reaching  the  square,  they  paused  briefly. 

"  It  would  be  mighty  hard  to  leave  these  parts  if  we 
hadn't  Rome  before  us,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  the 
light  of  adventure  very  brilliant  in  his  eyes.  "  Aren't 
you  just  hungry  for  Rome?  Doesn't  it  sometimes  seem 
as  if  you  couldn't  wait,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  very 
richest  treasures  that  aren't  Rome  ?  " 

"  Sure  it  does  —  at  this  very  minute,"  said  Hank  with 
her  own  blithe,  boyish  smile.  And  she  oflfered  to  fetch 
Nancy  and  leave  him  there  with  Garibaldi.  As  she  went, 
she  heard  him  repeating  the  verses  from  Kipling.  And 
she  lingered  long  enough  to  know  that  he  had  them  letter 
perfect. 

Driving  back  to  Florence,  they  had  a  beautiful  view  of 
the  city  the  earlier  part  of  the  way.  Then  the  road  was 
shut  in  on  both  sides  almost  tunnel-wise  by  high  walls 
above  which  nothing  was  visible  except  trees  and  tall 
shrubbery.  But  rounding  the  curves,  they  looked  back, 
directed  by  Cotton,  who  faced  that  way,  to  see  that  be- 


FIREWEED  165 

yond  the  walls,  stately  villas,  standing  high  above  gar- 
dens and  parks,  bordered  the  way  on  both  sides.  Fur- 
ther on,  they  met  laborers  toiling  home  at  the  close  of 
the  long  summer  day,  the  more  part  walking,  a  few  in 
donkey  carts.  Later,  there  were  handsome  carriages 
drawn  by  high-bred  horses,  and  they  got  their  first 
glimpses  of  the  Florentine  aristocracy.  There  were  beau- 
tiful children  and  fair  young  girls;  but  the  stout,  ugly, 
overdressed  women  in  immense  plumed  hats  were  so 
strikingly  in  contrast  that  Miss  Melendy  declared  they 
were  haloed  by  interrogation  points. 

The  steep  descent  became  precipitous,  but  their  stout 
little  horses  were  sure-footed  as  mountain  goats.  The 
shadows  had  lengthened  gradually  on  the  heights,  and 
after  they  had  crossed  the  railway  tracks  and  turned  into 
the  narrow  side  streets,  it  was  already  dusk. 

But  daylight  still  lingered  in  the  piazza  before  the 
Duomo,  which,  shining  rosy  and  white  in  the  pearly  even- 
ing glow,  seemed  more  than  ever  something  apart  from 
the  busy  life  of  the  city,  yet  its  true  center  and  its  soul. 
Miss  Melendy  proposed  that  they  should  get  out  and  go  in. 

The  day  had  been  long  and  difficult,  but  its  close  was 
so  serene  and  comforting  that  she  wished  to  prolong  it, 
or  perhaps  to  consecrate  it.  Cotton's  face  showed  how 
grateful  the  proposal  was  to  him,  and  Nancy  was  always 
glad  to  carry  her  burdened  heart  to  a  shrine.  They  dis- 
missed the  carriage,  and  crossed  the  piazza  and  entered. 

Within,  it  was  as  lovely  and  peaceful  as  Miss  Melendy 
had  anticipated.  She  felt,  too,  that  the  father  and  daugh- 
ter found  it  grateful.  The  pity  of  it  was  that  when 
they  emerged,  in  silent,  serene  companionship,  a  chance 
word  spoiled  it  all. 

They  strolled  slowly  and  silently  through  the  Via  de 
Proconsolo  into  the  Piazza  della  Signoria.  The  sky  was 
softly  purple  and  gold  and  misty  blue,  the  old  historic 


i66  FIREWEED 

spot  full  of  mystery  and  romance.  Why  it  should  have 
recalled  to  Cotton  just  the  wrong  thing,  Miss  Melendy 
couldn't  understand. 

His  face  lighted  suddenly  as  he  turned  to  Nancy. 

"  Oh,  honey,  what  do  you  think !  "  he  cried,  "  Miss 
Melendy  says  Mrs.  Miles  saw  a  lady  last  night  who  knows 
a  very  good  friend  of  ours.    Who  do  you  suppose  it  is  ?  " 

Nancy  grew  very  white. 

"  Back  home  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  No,  honey,  just  plain  home." 

"  Oh,  pappy,  I  don't  know.  Please  tell  me !  "  cried 
Nancy  in  such  a  distressed  tone  that  Miss  Melendy  won- 
dered how  her  father  could  be  so  blind  and  deaf. 

"  Phil  Stokes !  "  he  returned  genially.  "  Now  doesn't 
that  seem  singular  —  and  good !  " 

Miss  Melendy  tucked  her  arm  under  Nancy's  and  spoke 
quickly. 

"  Here's  a  first  rate  chance  for  Buddy  to  get  in  her 
stock  remark  about  the  world's  being  small,  after  all, 
though  I,  for  one,  could  never  see  why  they  always 
append  that  after  all,"  she  remarked.  "  But  Lord  love 
us,  friends,  it's  getting  late  and  here  we  are  way  off  here. 
I  vote  we  take  a  cab,  —  after  all.  Nan's  tired  and  I  want 
a  chance  to  wash  up.  The  others  will  be  at  the  table 
with  shining  evening  faces  promptly  at  eight." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  all  in  their  places  when 
Miss  Melendy  appeared  in  fresh  white  linen  with  her 
scarlet  tie  with  two  minutes  to  spare.  Miss  Little  could 
scarcely  wait  until  Miss  Melendy  had  seated  herself  at 
her  side. 

"Oh,  Hank,  what  have  you  heard  from  the  doctor?" 
she  whispered. 

For  a  moment  Hank  didn't  even  understand  what  she 
meant. 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  the 


FIREWEED  167 

blooming  thing !  "  she  confessed.     "  But  he  wasn't  to  tell 
us  anyhow  until  this  evening." 

Although  worn  almost  beyond  anything  she  had  ever 
experienced  by  the  emotional  strain  of  the  long,  hot  day, 
the  girl  sought  out  Miss  Cameron  directly  after  dinner. 
The  two  thought  best  to  wait  in  the  drawing-room  where 
Dr.  Burgess,  who  had  disappeared  before  sweets  came 
on,  could  find  them  easily  if  he  desired  to  report  to  them. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Polite  and  deferential  as  he  was,  Dr.  Burgess  knew 
how  to  be  firm,  and  though  he  had  chosen  his  language 
carefully,  when  he  left  Mrs.  Manners  that  night  after  a 
short  interview,  she  knew  as  definitely  as  if  he  had  said 
it  in  so  many  words  that  she  had  been  asked  to  withdraw 
from  the  Burgess  party  because  the  other  members  had 
not  found  her  an  agreeable  addition.  She,  Erica  Ericson 
Manners,  who  had  all  her  life  picked  and  chosen  and 
rejected  at  her  will,  had  been  ostracized,  exiled,  expelled 
by  a  group  of  Hoosier  nobodies ! 

Throughout  the  interview.  Erica  was  haughty  and 
frigid  and  insolent  if  not  directly  rude.  She  declared  her- 
self ready  to  sever  relations  at  once  and  scorned  his  prof- 
fered assistance.  There  was,  therefore,  nothing  to  do, 
after  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  but  to  summon 
forth  Miss  Lancaster  and  announce  the  decision  to  her 
at  once. 

It  was  a  bitter  pill  indeed.  Erica  wished  with  all  her 
heart  she  had  carried  out  her  intention  at  noon  that  day 
and  bidden  her  companion  begin  packing.  She  might, 
of  course,  make  the  declaration  now,  and  Miss  Lancaster 
might  never  know  the  truth.  But  though  formerly  she 
would  not  have  hesitated  so  to  spare  herself,  to-day.  Erica 
dismissed  the  thought  haughtily.  Calling  Miss  Lancas- 
ter, she  stated  the  bald  fact  laconically. 

Miss  Lancaster  was  genuinely  amazed.    For  once,  she 

i68 


FIREWEED  169 

could  not  fully  express  her  incredulity.  Such  proceeding 
was  actually  unknown  in  her  experience.  She  hadn't 
supposed  it  to  be  possible  that  one  who  controlled  one's 
hundreds  of  thousands  could  suffer  any  slightest  indig- 
nity, —  least  of  all  such  a  shocking  one  as  this.  As  soon 
as  she  could  find  words,  she  was  vociferous  in  her  in- 
credulous indignation,  laying  it  all  to  spite  on  the  part  of 
the  instigators,  of  whom  she  declared  Miss  Melendy  was 
probably  chief. 

Erica  paid  her  more  than  her  wonted  attention.  She 
listened  over-zealously,  indeed,  striving  to  gain  solace 
from  her  words.  But  somehow,  strong  as  they  were,  it 
was  cold  comfort.  Somehow  her  allegations  didn't  carry 
conviction,  or  else  they  bore  the  wrong  sort.  She  sat  like 
a  stone  for  a  time,  then  retired  into  her  own  room  without 
a  word  and  did  not  reappear.  And  Miss  Lancaster  did 
not  venture  even  to  knock  to  ask  if  she  wished  massage. 

Erica  Manners  had  complained,  and  not  without 
ground,  of  wretched,  wakeful  nights;  but  on  this  night, 
when  she  had  in  all  less  than  an  hour  of  forgetfulness, 
she  found  it  quite  another  experience.  Contrary  to  her 
wont,  however,  she  did  not  disturb  her  companion's  sleep. 
When  she  changed  restlessly  from  bed  to  arm-chair  and 
back  again,  she  was  very  quiet  in  her  movements.  And 
whether  this  was  because  her  attitude  toward  Miss  Lan- 
caster had  become  somewhat  less  thoughtless,  or  because 
she  didn't  want  to  be  reminded  of  her  presence,  probably 
she  didn't  herself  know. 

The  stony  numbness,  incident  to  the  total  unexpected- 
ness of  the  blow  she  had  received,  being  over,  her  brain 
began  to  work  excitedly.  Yes,  she  said  to  herself  again, 
Libby  was  right.  It  was  Miss  Melendy  who  had  done 
this  underhand  thing.  The  others,  who  weren't  Vbove  it, 
were  incapable  of  initiating  anything  but  would  follow 
like  huddled  sheep.     Erica  wondered  how  the  minx  had 


lyo  FIRE  WEED 

brought  it  about.  Had  she  called  a  meeting  or  asked  old 
Burgess  to  do  so,  and  demanded  a  solemn  vote?  All  in 
favor?  A  female  volley  of  ayes.  All  opposed?  Dead 
silence.  The  ayes  have  it.  For  of  course  no  voice  would 
have  opposed  her  impeachment,  least  of  all  Mr.  Cotton's. 
No  doubt  he  had  been  the  first  one  consulted  as  to  the 
matter.  He  had  quite  likely  prescribed  the  proper  for- 
malities. 

And  it  w^as  only  this  morning  that  he  had  seemed 
friendly,  —  really  friendly.  And  —  he  had  known  of  this 
all  the  while.  But  somehow,  Erica  couldn't  accuse  him 
of  insincerity.  Perhaps  he  forgot  who  it  was  he  was 
talking  to,  —  now  she  considered  it,  he  hadn't  been  very 
personal.  He  had  simply  been  talking  to  Anyone.  She 
might  have  been  a  man  or  a  woman  with  crossed  eyes  and 
an  hump,  and  it  would  have  been  the  same  to  him. 

Even  so,  he  had  made  her  want  to  cry  and  had  almost 
made  her  want  to  be  —  different.  Well !  she  certainly 
would  never  again  feel  any  inclination  to  try  to  be  dif- 
ferent —  to  be  good,  there !  she  might  as  well  say  it 
plainly.  More  likely,  she  would  become  definitely  bad. 
She  would  go  to  the  devil,  and  it  would  be  old  Burgess's 
fault.  No,  it  would  be  his  —  Caleb  Cotton's.  One  word 
from  him  would  have  had  them  all  at  his  feet.  But  he 
wouldn't  speak  it.  Who  said  that  man  was  tender- 
hearted ?    He  was  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone ! 

Well,  suppose  he  was!  What  did  she  care?  She 
wouldn't  come  in  contact  with  him  any  more.  She  might 
never  see  him  again  after  she  left  the  party.  Certainly 
she  would  never —  But  suddenly  Erica's  heart  failed 
her.  Wrath,  which  had  supported  her  up  to  this  moment 
gave  way  to  utter  wretchedness.  Throwing  herself  prone 
upon  the  bed,  she  burst  into  tears.  She  wept  silently, 
bitterly,  for  the  first  time  since  her  early  girlhood. 

Nancy  Cotton  was  reserved  even  in  her  inmost  heart. 


FIREWEED  171 

But  Erica  Manners  was  quite  another  person.  Even  as 
the  realization  came  to  her,  she  voiced  it,  put  it  into 
actual  words.  She  cried  out,  within  herself,  that  she 
could  not  live  without  seeing  Caleb  Cotton  frequently,  — 
yes,  daily.  It  would  be  like  death  to  be  cut  off  from  the 
sight  of  him,  from  the  opportunity  of  those  chance  meet- 
ings with  him.  She  would  far  rather  die  than  be  ban- 
ished from  his  presence. 

Even  now,  however.  Erica  did  not  wholly  understand. 
Prematurely  sophisticated,  she  had  babbled  of  love  from 
her  early  girlhood;  she  had  discussed  the  intricacies  of 
love  and  lovers  with  her  little  coterie  of  friends  —  and 
lovers.  But  she  had  never  before  experienced  the  real 
passion,  and  with  all  her  wisdom,  she  did  not  recognize 
it.  This  fierce,  wild  longing,  this  utter  craving,  this  bitter 
anguish  at  the  thought  of  separation  from  another,  must 
interpret  itself  to  her  eventually,  but  that  was  not  to  be 
until  she  had  undergone  a  night  of  torture  and  the  suc- 
ceeding day  of  agony.  It  was  to  come  to  her,  indeed, 
only  after  an  interview  with  Cotton  himself. 

The  following  evening  she  sent  a  note  to  him  asking 
him  to  come  to  her  sitting-room. 

The  messenger  found  the  lawyer  in  his  room.  As  he 
put  aside  the  pipe  he  had  been  about  to  light,  he  sighed, 
but  not  because  he  was  tired,  though  he  truly  was.  Early 
that  morning  Nancy  had  fainted,  and  though  she  was 
better,  she  remained  weak  still.  He  had  left  her  just 
now  in  Miss  Melendy's  company. 

He  did  not  mind  losing  or  postponing  his  pipe,  which 
Miss  Melendy  had  sent  him  out  to  smoke.  (Mrs.  Bur- 
gess objected  to  the  odor  of  tobacco  and  he  seldom  in- 
dulged.) But  he  dreaded  the  meeting.  Dr.  Burgess  had 
told  him  that  he  had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Manners,  and  all  day, 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  anxiety,  he  had  felt  vaguely  sorry 
for  her.     As  he  presented  himself  at  her  door,  he  said 


172  FIRE  WEED 

to  himself  hopefully  that  doubtless  she  wished  to  consult 
him  with  regard  to  some  detail  of  travel. 

Mrs.  Manners  was  alone.  She  had  not  left  her  rooms 
all  day  but  was  elegantly  dressed  in  a  faint  blue  evening 
gown,  which,  though  it  made  her  pallor  the  more  con- 
spicuous, rather  suited  her.  Despite  her  wretchedness, 
she  was  not  unconscious  of  the  fact;  but  she  was  of 
course  quite  unaware  that  to  Cotton  she  looked  older  by 
ten  years  than  she  had  appeared  yesterday,  and  worn, 
as  if  she  had  grown  thin  in  a  night.  In  truth,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life.  Erica  merited  the  term  she  had  so 
dreaded  —  she  was  haggard.  But  she  had  never  before 
been  so  deeply  stirred  nor  by  such  genuine  emotion. 
Remarking  this  at  his  first  glance,  Cotton's  mind  involun- 
tarily traveled  straight  back  to  that  dingy  court-room  to 
the  figure  of  his  late  client,  sitting  with  bowed  head,  with 
that  terrible  blue-whiteness  about  the  temples. 

It  was  probably  that  recollection  that  made  him  rather 
surprised  to  be  greeted  by  Mrs.  Manners  almost  as  if  he 
were  an  old  friend,  though  their  last  interview  had, 
indeed,  been  rather  cordial. 

He  didn't  take  the  chair  she  had  meant  for  him,  nor 
note  that  she  grew  a  shade  whiter. 

"  It's  awfully  kind  of  you  to  come,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she 
said  rather  humbly.  "  I  suppose  you  know  why  I  asked 
you?" 

His  honest  eyes  fell.  The  chair  he  had  taken  was 
too  low,  so  that  his  knees  stood  out  awkwardly.  The 
toes  of  his  big  shoes  were  on  an  exact  level  with  a  line 
in  the  figured  carpet. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  began,  then  raised  his  eyes.  "  Well, 
no,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  don't  really  know,  and  if  I  were  to 
guess,  I  might  be  quite  wrong,"  he  said  with  some  em- 
barrassment. 

"  But  if  you  were  to  guess?  "  she  persisted,  and  worn 


FIREWEED  173 

as  she  was,  and  anxious,  she  did  not  speak  without 
coquetry,  "  what  would  it  be  ?  " 

"  Suppose  you  up  and  tell  me,  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  pro- 
posed quietly.  "  My  horse  trading  days  are  too  far  in 
the  past  for  me  to  take  any  odds  now.  You  just  tell  me, 
if  you  please,  if  there's  any  way  in  which  I  can  serve 
you." 

How  hard  he  was!  Erica  clasped  her  hands  tightly. 
For  a  little  she  could  not  trust  her  voice  to  speak. 
Then  she  spoke  abruptly  and  quite  without  affecta- 
tion, 

"  You  understand  that  Burgess  has  turned  us  out,  Miss 
Lancaster  and  me  ?  "  she  demanded  with  a  little  break 
in  her  angry  voice. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  hardly  take  it  in  that  way," 
he  returned  in  a  troubled  voice.  "  Didn't  the  doctor  mean 
that  he  wasn't  the  right  guide  for  one  who  has  traveled 
about  so  much  as  you,  and  that  we  Hoosiers,  who  have 
never  been  far  outside  our  door-yards  before,  and  want 
to  poke  our  noses  into  everything,  aren't  the  right  sort  of 
companions  for  you?  Lots  of  people  would  feel  just 
so.  Why  Stokes  even  warned  me  against  folk  I  might 
encounter  in  a  hit-or-miss  party,  —  as  if  I  couldn't  put  up 
with  any  one  that  could  stand  the  like  o'  me !  " 

Erica  flushed. 

"  Well,  if  Burgess  thought  that,  why  couldn't  he  wait 
for  me  to  say  it  ?  "  she  cried  hotly. 

His  eyes  were  still  troubled,  but  he  spoke  calmly. 

"  Well,  now,  do  you  know,  I  think  the  doctor  thought 
you  did  say  just  that,  and  pretty  plainly  —  in  actions.  I 
haven't  happened  to  see  you  much  with  the  others,  but  I 
can  understand  how  he  might  have  come  to  feel  that  you 
would  be  happier  among  people  who  were  more  like  those 
whom  you  have  been  accustomed  to." 

Again  she  flushed  and  more  deeply. 


174  FIREWEED 

"In  other  words,  he  considers  me  a  snob?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say 
that,"  he  protested. 

"  But  you  think  I'm  one  yourself  ?  " 

She  looked  straight  into  his  clear,  steady,  honest,  deep- 
blue  eyes,  her  own  deepened  by  excitement  and  emotion. 

"  I  don't  know  you  sufficiently  well  to  pronounce  judg- 
ment," he  said  quietly. 

"  But  you  think  —  I  have  acted  like  one  —  since  I 
joined  this  party  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  my  place  to  judge  you,"  he  declared.  "  I 
have  seen  you  only  rarely,  you  know.    As  far  as  —  " 

He  paused.  After  all,  he  couldn't  absolve  her  in  any 
respect,  much  as  he  would  have  liked  to  say  something  to 
soothe  her  wounded  spirit.  There  would  have  been  ex- 
cuse for  her  if  she  had  been  rude  to  him ;  but  there  was  no 
shadow  of  excuse  for  one  who  had  deliberately  offended 
his  old  friend  Annabel  Miles,  the  kindest  soul  in  the 
world. 

"  I  think  perhaps  the  mistake  lay  in  your  coming  in 
with  us,  a  party  of  Westerners,  and  you  so  characteris- 
tically East  of  the  East,"  he  went  on,  gravely  kind.  "  The 
mere  sound  of  our  Western  voices  and  our  ugly  speech 
might  rile  you  in  itself,  as  we  would  put  it  out  there." 

His  arraying  himself  with  the  others  against  her  hurt 
her  keenly.     Moreover,  she  felt  she  was  losing  ground. 

"  It  was  so  unexpected !  "  she  cried,  "  and  —  I'm  sure 
I  don't  know  what  to  do !  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  shoved 
off  in  a  little  boat  on  a  wide  sea  without  rudder,  oar  or 
sail." 

Cotton  felt  for  something  vaguely.  It  was  his  Panama 
hat,  which  naturally  he  hadn't  with  him. 

"  Ah,  but  there  are  other  skippers,"  he  reminded  her. 
**  I  am  told  that  at  the  tourist  offices  you  can  easily  get  a 


FIREWEED  175 

man  that  will  take  you  anywhere  and  tend  to  all  your 
affairs.  Dr.  Burgess,  of  course,  understands  such  things 
better  than  I,  but  I  should  be  very  glad  to  look  up  the 
facts  for  you." 

"  Good  Lord,  Mr.  Cotton,  I  would  no  more  go  aroimd 
with  one  of  those  putty- faced  gabblers  at  my  elbow  than 
I  would  ride  a  motorcycle  through  the  Alps  with  Libby 
Lancaster  in  a  basket  at  my  side !  "  she  cried. 

"  Oh !  "  murmured  Cotton  rather  abashed.  He  rather 
wondered  what,  then,  she  had  wanted  of  him,  and  when 
the  pause  had  lengthened  he  asked  her  in  politer  form. 

Erica  was  at  a  loss  to  answer.  Vaguely,  she  had 
counted  on  moving  him. 

"  Dr.  Burgess  has  no  right  to  do  this,  when  I  paid  full 
price  for  Miss  Lancaster  and  myself !  "  she  cried,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  said.  For  whatever  she  was  or  was 
not,  certainly  Erica  Manners  was  not  stingy. 

Cotton  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  He  acts  as  if  he  were  the  manager  of  a  young  ladies 
select  school.     Has  he  the  right  —  " 

She  hesitated.     He  answered  the  unfinished  question. 

"  Yes'm,  he  has  the  right,"  he  said  calmly.  "  He'll  be 
glad  to  refund  your  money,  doctor  will;  but  this  is  only 
a  voluntary  sort  of  thing  for  him,  you  know,  Mrs.  Man- 
ners. He  doesn't  do  it  for  his  livelihood.  He  is  a  min- 
ister of  the  gospel.  He  has  his  pastor's  salary  and  does 
this  only,  as  one  might  say,  in  the  room  of  raising  his 
own  potatoes  and  beans.  He  wouldn't  have  come  at  all 
imless  he  had  been  assured  of  money  sufficient  to  pay 
expenses." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  Don't  think  I  mind  the  money !  " 
she  entreated. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  But  of 
course  doctor  has  the  right  to  keep  his  party  homogeneous, 
as  it  were,  all  agreeable,  one  to  another." 


176  FIRE  WEED 

"  Oh,  damn ! "  she  cried,  hardly  realizing  what  she 
said,  and  too  excited  to  consider  that  the  word  was 
less  current  in  circles  where  Cotton  moved  than  in 
her  own.  Cotton,  amazed,  indeed,  lowered  his  eyes 
and  studied  the  line  in  the  carpet  he  was  toeing  so 
strictly. 

"  Just  because  I  don't  happen  to  fancy  holding  hands 
at  twilight  with  that  fat  Miles  woman,  he  doesn't  —  he 
insults  me  in  this  fashion ! "  she  cried. 

Cotton  saw  how  wrought  up  she  was,  and  his  pity  made 
him  overlook  what  would  have  otherwise  filled  him  with 
indignation. 

"  Now  see  here,  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  said  soothingly, 
"  Dr.  Burgess  hasn't  any  such  notions,  as  you  would 
know  well  if  you  weren't  somewhat  excited.  He's  only 
thinking  of  his  party  and  their  comfort.  I  don't  believe 
you  know  quite  how  it  is  with  these  people.  The  vaca- 
tion didn't  fall  into  their  hands  easily,  for  the  most  part. 
Most  of  them  had  to  make  real  sacrifices  to  bring  it  about, 
and  doctor  wants  to  make  it  just  as  happy  for  them  as  he 
knows  how.  He  wants  to,  he's  more  than  eager  to;  but 
even  if  he  didn't,  you  know,  it  would  be  up  to  him  to  do 
it.     It  would  be  his  job." 

He  glanced  across  the  room.  Returning,  his  eyes 
rested  upon  her  kindly.  He  smiled  in  a  droll,  almost 
paternal  fashion. 

"  As  for  holding  the  hand  of  my  dear  old  friend,  Mrs. 
Miles,"  he  said,  "  well,  —  one  might  do  a  heap  worse. 
She  may  be  large  around  the  waist,  but  she's  of  the  salt 
of  the  earth.  Now  there's  Miss  Melendy,  she  doesn't 
go  in  at  all  for  that  sort  of  thing:  she's  like  a  boy  and 
hates  kissing  and  fussing  and  what  you  call  holding  hands, 
and  yet  she  never  fails  to  give  Mrs.  Miles  a  good-night 
kiss. 

"  Mrs.  Miles  lost  two  children  in  infancy,"  he  went 


FIREWEED  177 

on,  then  called  her  especial  attention  to  the  words  by  his 
abrupt  change  of  subject. 

"  She  goes  in  to  help  with  her  clothes,  Miss  Melendy 
does,"  he  said  hurriedly  and  rather  lamely.  "  There  was 
some  mistake  about  them,  I  reckon,  for  they  all  come 
together  in  the  back  and  she  can't  get  in  nor  out  of  them 
alone." 

The  girl's  name  acted  upon  Erica's  excitement  like  oil 
poured  upon  flame. 

"  Well,  it's  good  practise  in  the  nursing  line  for  Miss 
Melendy,"  she  observed. 

"  But  Miss  Melendy  is  going  to  be  a  doctor,  not  a  nurse, 
like  your  Miss  Lancaster,"  he  returned  with  a  certain 
warmth. 

"  A  lady  doctor  has  to  be  more  or  less  of  a  nurse  these 
days,"  she  rejoined  more  warmly.  "  They're  no  longer 
a  novelty  and  —  I  fancy  many  of  them  are  mighty  glad 
to  get  a  chance  to  do  massage." 

Cotton  carefully  adjusted  his  toes  to  the  line. 

"  Personally,  I  have  known  women  physicians  that 
couldn't  be  beat,"  he  said  reluctantly,  as  if  he  disliked 
to  differ  with  her.  But  more  likely  he  wished  to  keep 
to  the  point,  finish  the  business  and  get  away.  Whatever 
it  was,  he  couldn't  let  a  friend  go  undefended, 

"  To  my  mind,  Miss  Melendy  has  the  makings  of  a 
wonderful  physician,  without  specifying  as  to  man  or 
woman,"  he  added.     "  She's  a  born  doctor." 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  rose. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  best  be  going,"  he  said  politely. 

"  But  you  haven't  told  me  —  what  I'm  to  do,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

Why  she  should  expect  him  to  do  any  such  thing,  he 
could  not  conceive.  And  anyhow,  there  was  but  one 
thing  to  be  done.  But  he  seated  himself  again  patiently, 
toeing  the  line,   with  his  knees  more  prominent   than 


178  FIREWEED 

before.  Half  absently  he  reached  for  an  ivory  paper 
knife  on  the  table  near,  and  that  in  hand  he  seemed  to 
turn  into  the  lawyer  he  had  almost  forgotten. 

"  You  had  rather  expected  to  do  your  traveling  this 
summer  with  Miss  Lancaster  alone,  had  you  not,  —  up  to 
the  time  she  met  with  her  accident  ?  "  he  asked  rather 
formally. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Erica,  "  I  suppose  I  had." 

"  And  she  is  quite  well  again  ?  " 

Mrs.  Manners  admitted  that  she  was  as  fit  as  she 
would  ever  be. 

"  Then  what  would  be  more  natural  than  for  you  two 
to  finish  the  summer  together  just  as  you  had  planned?  " 
he  concluded. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to,"  cried  Erica  as  if  he  were  the 
stem  school-master  and  she  the  pupil.  "  That  woman 
bores  me  to  death  !  " 

"  Oh  —  that's  it !  "  he  said  in  his  droll  way,  almost 
smiling.  "  May  I  ask  if  there  is  any  one  in  the  party 
that  doesn't  bore  you,  Mrs.  Manners?" 

Erica  laughed.  "  There's  nothing  so  bad  as  the  bore- 
dom of  one,"  she  said.  "  And  besides,  in  a  lump  I 
rather  like  'em,  honestly  I  do,  Mr.  Cotton,  even  though 
perhaps  I  didn't  seem  to.  I  —  I  suppose  I  hardly  real- 
ized it  until  this  moment.  Don't  you  think  —  couldn't 
you  possibly  arrange  it  so  that  I  could  go  on  with 
them?" 

"  Oh,  but  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  protested,  "  I  haven't  any 
authority,  you  know.  It  all  rests  with  Dr.  Burgess  and 
I  reckon  that  when  he's  made  up  his  mind  he's  right 
firm.  I  could  say  to  him  that  you  wish  to  remain  in 
the  party,  but  it  wouldn't  do  any  good.  You  won't,  I 
believe,  take  it  amiss,  for  you  don't  care  for  them  " —  he 
half  smiled  —  "  not  individually,  at  least  —  but  the  fact 
is  —  well,  the  ladies  don't  want  you  to  continue." 


FIREWEED  179 

Erica  knew  this  right  well.  But  it  hurt  strangely  com- 
ing from  him. 

"  Oh !  I'm  sorry,"  she  murmured.  "  But  perhaps  they 
wouldn't  mind,  if  —  if  —  oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  do  you  think 
of  anything  I  could  do  —  to  make  things  right?" 

He  hesitated,  looked  at  his  toes  against  the  line  and 
replied  without  raising  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,  but  I  am  afraid  there  isn't  anything," 
he  said. 

On  a  sudden  she  leaned  forward  in  the  chair  she  sat 
in,  clasped  her  hands  over  her  knees  and  raised  her  eyes 
beseechingly  to  his. 

"  Tell  me  this,"  she  begged.  "  What  would  you  do  if 
you  were  in  my  place  and  this  had  happened  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  would  —  "  he  began  promptly,  then  hesitated 
and  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  You  see  it's  different  with  a  man  —  or  with  any  one 
who  has  been  up  against  it,  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  said 
gravely.     "  You  couldn't  do  it." 

"  Couldn't  do  what  ?  "  she  cried,  "  and  why  couldn't  I  ?  " 

He  returned  the  paper  knife  to  exactly  its  original 
place  on  the  table.  Spreading  out  his  fingers  with  the 
tips  touching,  he  gazed  earnestly  at  the  hemisphere  thus 
formed  as  if  to  draw  inspiration  therefrom. 

"  Because,"  he  said  slowly,  raising  his  eyes,  then  allow- 
ing them  to  fall  again  upon  the  little  dome,  "  because 
after  all,  Mrs.  Manners,  it  all  boils  down  to  being  a 
case  of  —  " 

He  checked  himself  sharply  as  the  familiar  phrase  of 
his  profession  rose  to  his  lips ;  but  she  understood  and 
flushed  deeply.  And  she  was  clever  enough  to  realize 
that  the  memory  of  the  trial  stiffened  him  into  the  lawyer 
again. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  two  groups  of  people  from  different 
environments   and   without   common   interests  who   are 


i8o  FIREWEED 

mutually  personae  non  gratae,"  he  went  on  calmly  and 
judicially.  "  Now  the  larger  group  and  the  one  in  pos- 
session has  the  right  of  way.  The  minority,  you  and  Miss 
Lancaster,  were  late  comers  and  have  no  right  to  expect 
those  in  possession  to  turn  out  or  to  cramp  themselves  in 
order  to  accommodate  you.  It  has  been  amply  proved 
impossible  for  you  to  walk  on  side  by  side  with  them. 
Wherefore,  you  must  either  take  an  entirely  different 
direction  or  you  must  wait  and  let  them  pass  by.  After 
that,  the  whole  highway  is  yours." 

In  unconscious,  or  only  partly  conscious  imitation. 
Erica  had  touched  the  finger  tips  of  one  hand  with  the 
long  slender  white  fingers  of  the  other,  and  was  in  turn 
gazing  at  the  lantern  they  formed. 

"  Perhaps,  by  trying  again,  we  could  walk  alongside  ?  " 
she  ventured  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  wet-blanket,"  he  returned,  "  but 
honest  Injun,  Mrs.  Manners,  you  couldn't  fit  into  our 
group  without  just  making  yourself  over,  and  — "  he 
smiled  kindly  and  again  rather  paternally,  "  I  reckon  your 
friends  would  never  stand  for  that,  even  if  you  should 
wish  it  and  it  were  possible." 

Now  he  leaned  forward,  with  an  hand  on  each  elevated 
knee,  an  extremely  awkward  figure  yet  with  the  dignity 
of  earnest  kindness. 

"  Why  don't  you  just  make  up  your  mind  to  go  your 
way  and  let  us  go  ours  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  You  know 
right  well  in  your  heart  that  there  ain't  a  man  jack  of 
us  that  you  would  turn  your  little  finger  over  to  see  again. 
I  understand  why  you  chafe  over  this,  and  in  a  way  I 
sympathize  with  you  —  more  than  I  ought,  perhaps,  when 
you  consider  all  these  people  are  my  good  friends. 
You're  upset  largely  because  it's  a  fiat,  and  you  are  not 
accustomed  to  receiving  even  mild  suggestions.  It's  be- 
cause you  feel  that  you  are  being  put  out  that  you  hesitate 


FIREWEED  i8i 

to  go;  but  it  isn't  unlikely  that  if  you  had  been  left  to 
yourself  you  might  have  come  to  the  same  decision  volun- 
tarily.    Now  isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,'^  she  declared  with  an  increment  of  firm- 
ness because  of  the  kindness  of  his  voice  and  manner. 
"  I  truly  want  —  I  don't  want  to  go  off  by  myself,  and  — 
I  could  walk  in  the  same  path." 

In  the  pause  that  fell  between  them,  Cotton  resumed 
his  former  position.  Erica  waited  breathlessly  for  his 
next  words.  But  as  she  waited,  she  was  suddenly  startled 
out  of  herself  by  a  deep  sigh.  He  had  breathed  it  uncon- 
sciously, and  she  seemed  rather  to  have  felt  than  heard  it. 

Looking  up,  she  saw  that  his  face  was  deeply  lined, 
weary  and  older  than  it  should  have  been,  —  it  was  more 
lined,  more  tired,  and  older  than  it  had  been  when  he 
came  to  her  door.  There  was  a  subtle  change  in  the 
pulsing  of  her  heart.  On  a  sudden,  she  forgot  herself 
completely. 

"  I  mustn't  keep  you  —  you  are  tired,"  she  said  gently. 
"  I  had  no  right  to  vex  you  with  all  this,  and  you  had  the 
best  of  reasons  for  refusing  to  come.  Don't  bother  any 
more,  I'll  think  over  what  you  have  said.  Perhaps  — 
perhaps  I'll  try  to  make  myself  over  anyhow,  even  though 
you  think  I  can't.  I  want  to  —  awfully,  and  —  that  might 
make  a  difference.  I  have  thought  —  ever  since  you 
spoke  so  beautifully  about  high  and  heroic  things,  about 
choosing  the  hard  way,  you  know  —  that  they  seemed  — 
honestly,  Mr.  Cotton,  if  I  thought  that  I  was  worth  mak- 
ing over,  I'd  try  —  I  would  just  —  struggle  —  there !  " 

Her  voice  faltered.  She  raised  her  eyes,  smiled  waver- 
ingly  and  went  on. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  a  bad  lot.  Most  likely,  I'm  not  worth 
making  any  struggle  about.  Perhaps  I  couldn't  scrape 
together  enough  good  material  to  make  an  whole  garment 
to  cover  my  nakedness  —  not  even  by  patching." 


i82  FIREWEED 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,"  she  repeated,  "  it  wouldn't 
be  really  worth  while." 

Erica  Manners  was  absolutely  sincere.  In  the  wave 
of  emotion  that  had  engulfed  her  with  his  sigh  of  weari- 
ness, emotion  more  nearly  maternal  than  anything  she  had 
ever  known,  the  vague,  unformed  desires  that  had  haunted 
her  of  late,  the  reaching  out  dimly  toward  better  things 
than  she  had  known,  had  crystallized  into  definite  longing 
—  even  aspiration.  For  the  moment  she  forgot  every- 
thing —  the  purpose  for  which  she  had  summoned  Cotton 
to  her,  her  determination  not  to  be  separated  from 
the  party,  the  past  that  stood  between  them,  and  all  else. 
She  only  knew  that  being  sorry  for  him,  she  was  not 
worthy  to  put  her  hand  in  his  and  tell  him  so.  She 
wanted,  she.  Erica  Manners,  wanted,  like  any  street  con- 
vert of  the  Salvation  Army,  to  be  good. 

Coming  from  her  with  that  depth  of  sincerity,  it  cer- 
tainly meant  much.  But  whether  it  were  deep  or  lasting 
enough  to  call  forth  that  wonderful  expression  upon  Cot- 
ton's homely,  tired  face,  would  have  been  a  moot  ques- 
tion. It  was  the  beautiful  look  one  attributes  to  the 
Shepherd  in  the  parable,  and  Erica  Manners  flinched 
before  it.  She  who  had  never  known  the  meaning  of 
humility  could  have  bowed  her  head  and  hidden  her  face 
before  it  in  the  conviction  of  her  unworthiness. 

"  Worth  it  —  worth  a  struggle !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a 
smile  that  was  the  more  comforting  in  that  it  was  droll 
as  well  as  kindly,  —  such  a  deprecatory  smile  as  he  might 
have  given  a  naughty  but  repentant  little  pupil  of  his  in 
the  days  of  his  teaching  in  the  backwoods.  "  Of  course 
it's  worth  it !  It's  magnificently  worth  it !  You  know  — 
or  rather,  you  can't  know  what  it  means  when  one  who 
is  naturally  gifted,  who  could  please  without  much  try- 
ing, makes  a  real  effort  to  —  " 

He  paused,  and  his  voice  fell  low. 


FIREWEED  183 

"  Why  to  live  justly,  to  love  mercy  and  to  walk  humbly 
M^ith  one's  God,"  he  concluded. 

He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand.  As  Erica  stood  before 
him,  unable  to  raise  her  eyes  because  of  tears,  the  feeling 
of  surrender,  of  peace,  of  well-being  that  came  upon  her 
with  the  strong,  firm  grasp  of  his  hand  was  something 
so  much  better  than  anything  she  had  hitherto  experienced 
that  it  was,  perhaps,  small  wonder  that  she  took  it  to  be 
permanent.  She  believed,  humbly,  indeed,  yet  confi- 
dently, solemnly  yet  almost  jubilantly,  that  the  miracle 
was  accomplished  once  for  all,  and  that  she  was  truly 
"  made  over." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

The  Burgess  party  had  alighted  from  the  railway  car- 
riage at  Perugia  in  a  downpour  of  rain  which  had  closed 
in  like  a  curtain  about  the  elegant,  red  carpeted  tram-car 
in  which  they  climbed  the  long  steep  hill  to  the  piazza 
which  occupies  the  site  of  the  ancient  citadel. 

Rain  still  fell  when  Caleb  Cotton  set  forth  directly  after 
luncheon,  but  the  sky  was  so  mistily  bright  that  it  seemed 
like  "  sun  showers,"  which  are  not  supposed  to  wet  the 
traveler.  The  further  hills  were  still  shut  off,  but  he  had 
glimpses  of  the  green  valley  as  he  slowly  descended  the 
long  hill  and  entered  the  narrow  streets  of  the  little  old 
town  in  the  plain  below. 

The  descent  had  been  through  a  sleeping  city  as  it 
were;  but  the  dirty  streets  below  were  swarming  with 
life.  Cotton  nodded  his  way  along  cheerfully,  produc- 
ing sweets  from  the  bulging  pockets  of  his  waterproof 
coat  for  the  children,  and  purchasing  apples  at  a  way- 
side booth  to  feed  numerous  forlorn  little  donkeys  he 
encountered. 

Leaving  the  street,  he  passed  into  the  open,  strolling 
on  until  on  a  sudden  the  gentle  shower  became  an  heavy 
downpour,  when  he  took  hurried  refuge  in  a  church  at  a 
few  rods  distance  to  the  left  from  the  spot  where  he  hap- 
pened to  be.  Later,  he  found  it  to  be  San  Pietro  de' 
Cassinensi. 

With  the  exception  of  the  Duomo,  the  churches  of 

184 


FIREWEED  185 

Florence  had  not  interested  Cotton.  This  fine  old  basil- 
ica, however,  with  its  rich  deep  reds  and  blues  in  ceilings 
and  vaultings,  appealed  to  his  natural  sense  of  proportion 
and  his  love  of  rich  color.  Having  feed  the  bent  old  sacris- 
tan, who  departed  into  an  anteroom,  he  had  the  place  to 
himself,  being  content  for  a  time  to  rest  quiescent  against 
a  pillar,  his  mind  passive  in  the  dim,  rich  quietude  of  the 
place. 

But  when  presently  he  moved  on  into  the  choir,  he 
was  again  his  usual  keenly  alert  self,  delighted  with  the 
richly  carved  stalls,  whose  gracious  handiwork  was  clear 
as  the  outlines  of  Nature.  He  hoped  Nancy  would  be 
interested  in  the  myriad,  wonderful,  fantastic  little  figures, 
and  determined  to  bring  her  hither  in  a  carriage  and  let 
her  look  at  them  to  her  heart's  content. 

Quite  unaware  how  distinctly  inappropriate  the  latter 
phrase  was,  as  he  left  his  close  study,  he  came  upon  a 
door  in  the  center  of  the  apse  that  stood  just  ajar.  Push- 
ing it  open,  he  encountered  a  tiny  balcony  and  stepped 
out. 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  the  blue  sky  shone  out  from 
piled  masses  of  dazzHngly  white  clouds  whose  fantastic 
shapes  cast  curious,  charming  shadows  upon  the  wide- 
spreading  landscape,  green  and  lilac  and  misty,  rising 
gently  from  the  hollow  to  the  far,  faint  blue  hills.  Look- 
ing from  the  dark  church  was  like  looking  through  a  spy- 
glass or  the  hood  of  a  camera.  It  seemed  to  be  a  vision 
which  belonged  only  to  the  church,  and  he  could  almost 
believe  that  it  had  no  existence  apart  from  it,  —  that  it 
was  not  Perugia,  not,  indeed,  Italy,  but  some  fair  country 
of  the  spirit.     Here  was  a  genuine  surprise  for  Nancy. 

Leaving  the  church,  and  strolling  on,  he  found  himself 
at  the  entrance  to  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele,  whence, 
he  seemed  to  recollect,  one  might  get  a  glimpse  of  four- 
teen cities,  including  Assisi.     It  wasn't  sufficiently  clear 


i86  FIREWEED 

to-day,  he  knew,  but  sauntered  on  towards  the  statue. 
Pausing  before  it,  on  a  sudden  he  caught  sight  of  a  girl 
in  a  waterproof  cloak  and  slouch  hat  standing  against  the 
parapet  at  the  further  edge  of  the  piazza.  He  hadn't  seen 
the  costume  before,  but  something  familiar  in  the  pose 
of  the  figure  told  him  it  was  Miss  Melendy,  and  he  strode 
over  to  her  and  greeted  her  eagerly. 

"  Why,  Miss  Melendy,  I  feel  like  I  hadn't  seen  you 
this  many  a  day !  "  he  exclaimed  with  his  droll  smile.  "  I 
feel  like  I  had  been  away  from  the  world  and  the  dwellers 
therein  for  a  very  long  time.  I  have  been  in  the  church 
yonder  —  St.  Peter's.  I  seem  to  have  forgotten  myself 
and  the  passage  of  time,  and  I  shall  have  to  inquire  of 
you  whether  it's  to-day  or  yesterday  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  girl  smiling,  as  she  took  off 
her  little  shapeless  hat  and  shook  the  water  from  it. 
But  it  wasn't  Hank's  old  grin  nor  her  funny  boyish  smile. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  forlorn  yet  sweet  shadow  of  the  latter. 
For  she  was  wishing  in  her  heart  that  she  wasn't  so  over- 
whelmingly glad  to  see  Mr.  Cotton.  She  wished  she 
hadn't  longed  to  steal  away  from  the  inn  and  come  down 
this  way  just  because  she  knew  the  direction  he  had 
chosen  and  believed  she  might  encounter  him.  She  had 
always  taken  pride  in  her  independence  and  frank  deal- 
ing. Somehow,  she  wasn't  herself  of  late.  And,  oh,  she 
wished  —  that  she  didn't  suspect  the  reason! 

With  a  savage  consciousness  that  she  was  making  a 
guy  of  herself,  she  pulled  her  hat  low  over  her  brow. 
But  the  result  was  not  what  she  expected.  For  the  hat 
pushed  the  loosened  locks  of  her  brown  hair,  curling  in 
the  dampness,  about  her  face,  softening  it  and  adding  to 
its  charming  piquancy. 

"  Have  you  stolen  a  march  on  me  and  found  the  four- 
teen cities  ?  "  he  asked,  and  standing  beside  her  strained 
his  adventurous  eyes  far  out  over  the  hills  before  them. 


FIREWEED  187 

Beyond  the  deep  valley,  almost  dazzlingly  green  from 
the  rain,  rose  the  hills,  circle  within  circle,  the  rich  fore- 
ground of  green  shading  into  the  silvery  gray  of  the 
olive  groves  and  diversified  by  the  warmer,  lighter  green 
of  the  vineyards.  Patches  of  pinkish  brown  showed 
fields  that  had  been  harvested.  Violet  succeeded  blue 
and  lilac  melted  into  the  neutral  sky.  Stray  villas  stood 
out  singly  here  and  there  and  white  towns  and  villages 
clustered  about  churches  and  towers.  Of  these,  some 
dotted  a  round  eminence,  while  others  circled  below  the 
crest  of  a  great  beetling  rock  that  had  been  an  impreg- 
nable fortress  when  the  land  had  been  parceled  out  among 
princes. 

The  apparent  clearness  was  deceptive,  for  the  air  was 
still  heavy  with  moisture,  and  they  could  count  only  a 
few  towns  and  did  not  identify  Assisi.  But  it  was  good 
to  have  made  the  preliminary  survey.  They  could  get 
out  their  maps  that  evening  and  call  in  Dr.  Burgess  for 
counsel. 

As  they  turned  to  retrace  the  way,  Cotton  stooped  and 
picked  up  a  small  stone,  not  so  big  as  a  lira,  of  a  pinkish- 
brown  color  with  a  distinct  line  of  white  encircling  it. 

"  My  eye !  It's  a  lucky-stone !  "  he  exclaimed,  calling 
on  her  to  witness  that  the  circle  was  perfect.  And  draw- 
ing out  his  stylographic  pen,  he  inscribed  it  with  the  place 
and  date  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Put  it  in  your  pocket  for  the  best  of  good  luck,  Miss 
Melendy,"  he  said  with  his  characteristic  earnestness. 
"  It  isn't  heavy  enough  to  weigh  you  down,  and  if  you 
didn't  merit  it  for  other  reasons,  you  would  deserve  to 
have  it  for  being  the  only  lady  in  the  party  with  pockets 
inseparable  from  your  dresses." 

Miss  Melendy  took  it  into  her  hand  and  gazed  upon 
it  in  a  curiously  reminiscent  fashion. 

"  I  shall  always  keep  it,"  she  said  softly,  "  and  it  will 


i88  FIREWEED 

remind  me  of  Perugia  and  Victor  Emanuel  and  the  four- 
teen cities." 

Which  was  hardly  like  Miss  Melendy,  Neither  was 
her  secret  discovery  that  it  was  of  the  shade  which  our 
grandmothers  called  ashes  of  roses.  Still  less,  was  her 
vision  of  her  future  self  evoked  by  her  own  words.  For 
even  as  she  spoke,  she  saw  herself,  years  hence,  coming 
suddenly  upon  that  little  sad-colored  lucky-stone.  She 
would  have  forgotten  the  picture  gallery,  the  octagonal 
well  in  the  tilted  plane  before  the  cathedral,  and  even  the 
fourteen  cities.  Perugia  would  mean  only  that  lucky- 
stone  and  the  fact  that  Mr.  Cotton  had  given  it  to  her. 
Indeed,  not  only  Perugia,  but  all  Italy,  all  they  had  seen 
or  were  to  see  of  Europe,  would  amount  to  just  that. 
And,  oh,  would  it  be  a  compensating  value?  But  the 
girl  cried  out  within  herself  that  she  would  make  it  so. 
She  must  make  it  so.  There  was  nothing  for  her  but 
that. 

All  the  while  these  and  similar  meditations  possessed 
her,  they  had  been  walking  back  up  the  hill.  Suddenly 
she  raised  her  eyes  in  surprise  to  find  that  they  were  on 
the  last  lap  of  the  hill,  and  within  a  few  minutes'  walk 
of  the  inn  which  crowned  it. 

She  looked  up  at  her  companion. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Cotton,  whether  —  has 
coming  abroad  meant  to  you  all  that  you  expected  ?  " 

As  he  removed  his  Panama  hat,  which  was  rather  more 
shapeless  than  usual  after  its  wetting,  he  beamed  down 
upon  the  girl  with  some  surprise. 

"  Far  beyond  my  fondest  hopes,  Miss  Melendy,"  he 
returned,  "  and  there's  Rome,  the  best  of  all,  I  calculate, 
still  beyond.  Rome  and  London  were  what  I  chiefly 
banked  on,  particularly  Rome;  and  yet,  if  I  had  to  turn 
around  this  minute  and  go  straight  home,  I  should  feel 
rewarded  all  my  life  for  what  I  have  had  already." 


FIREWEED  189 

He  gazed  down  over  the  greenness  of  a  tangle  of  shrub- 
bery, and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  elegant  tram  car, 

"  How  much  we  owe  to  civilization  for  making  it  so 
easy  and  comfortable  to  cross  seas  and  continents  with 
less  difficulty  than  our  grandparents  had  in  visiting  their 
neighbors,"  he  observed.  "  Of  course,  I  could  have 
roughed  it  —  perhaps  I  should  have  liked  roughing  it  a 
trifle  more;  but  I  shouldn't  have  come  without  Nanny." 

He  considered  a  few  moments. 

"  But  after  all,"  he  added,  "  I  reckon  we  owe  a  heap 
more  to  past  civilizations  for  giving  us  something  worth 
crossing  seas  and  countries  and  mountains  to  visit.  I  sup- 
pose we  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  the  genera- 
tions of  men  and  women  who  have  made  all  this  natural 
beauty  so  much  more  beautiful  through  association  — 
living  their  lives  bravely  and  honestly,  shaping  their  vi- 
sions in  color  or  stone  or  in  the  hearts  of  men,  enriching 
the  world  for  centuries  to  come.  Do  you  know.  Miss 
Melendy,  what  I  catch  myself  doing  every  now  and  then 
when  all  this  comes  over  me  like  a  flood?  I  make  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  like  I  was  a  true  Roman  Catholic." 

Miss  Melendy  laughed  out  in  her  old  blithe  way.  Sud- 
denly the  burden  seemed  to  drop  from  her  shoulders,  — 
for  the  present,  at  any  rate,  —  and  she  could  go  the  rest 
of  the  way  elate.  Farther  than  that,  too,  perhaps?  For 
somehow,  she  felt  inspired  to  face  the  unknown  future 
she  had  only  now  meditated  with  fear  and  dread.  Now, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  lucky-stone  might  mean  the  necessity 
and  beauty  of  brave  daily  living  —  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

Tiny  showers  had  chased  them  all  the  way;  but  ar- 
rived at  the  parapet  before  the  inn,  they  found  the  zenith 
bright,  and  a  throng  of  people,  their  friends  among  them, 
gathered  to  view  a  wonderful  rainbow  which  spanned  the 
hills  from  one  horizon  across  the  wide  deep  valley  to  the 
farther  rim  of  the  great  circumference.     Overhead,  the 


I90  FIREWEED 

heaven  was  dazzling;  in  the  East  and  about  the  low  sun, 
were  shining  banks  of  cloud ;  the  valley  gleamed  as  with 
sapphires,  rubies  and  a  myriad  crystals;  and  that  great 
bow  of  transparent,  gemlike  radiance  rested  on  purple 
summits  on  either  side  of  the  world. 

Miss  Melendy  went  in  to  fetch  Nancy  but  did  not 
return. 

Later  in  the  evening,  however,  when  there  was  music 
on  the  terrace  of  the  inn,  she  coaxed  the  girl  to  come 
out  and  sat  with  her  through  the  first  numbers.  But 
whether  the  music  wasn't  compelling  (the  others  seemed 
quite  satisfied  with  it)  or  whether  it  was  her  mood,  which 
had  changed  since  the  afternoon,  Miss  Melendy  did  not 
know,  but  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  endure  to  sit  there 
after  the  first  quarter  hour.  They  walked  out  to  the  edge 
of  the  parapet  where,  unimpressed  and  not  soothed  by 
the  wonderful  clear  night  and  the  marvelous  expanse  of 
starry  heavens,  she  burst  forth  suddenly. 

"  Nancy,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  known  what  it  means 
to  feel  like  the  Elder  Brother?"  she  demanded. 

Nancy's  face  lost  its  habitual  sadness  in  wonder. 

"  Of  the  parable,  you  know." 

Nancy  confessed  she  had  never  thought  much  about  it. 

"  Dear  me,  I  wish  you  had,  then  I  wouldn't  feel  so 
small.  I  have  always  had  a  sneaking  sympathy  for  the 
poor  cuss,  and  —  well,  —  oh,  honey,  if  you  could  have 
heard  Mrs.  Miles  to-night  when  I  went  in  to  hook  her 
up  the  back  for  dinner.  I  found  her  simply  gushing  and 
bursting  with  complacency  because  that  Mrs.  Manners, 
who  has  been  such  a  cad  to  every  one  in  general  and  to 
Mrs.  Miles  in  particular  ever  since  she  landed  on  us 
until  within  a  few  days,  has  been  making  up  to  her.  Of 
course  Lady  Erica's  been  in  Perugia  before,  and  knows 
the  place  from  A  to  Z,  and  she  devoted  herself  especially 
to  Mrs.  Miles  all  afternoon,  took  her  all  through  the 


FIREWEED  191 

high  city,  dealing  out  wisdom  all  the  way,  and  Mrs.  Miles 
says  she's  perfectly  fascinating!  And  there  the  two  of 
them  sit  yonder  now,  listening  to  the  music  together. 
They  had  a  date  for  it.  And  Mrs.  Miles  kindly  asked  me 
to  come  along.  Oh,  Nancy,  Nancy,  wouldn't  that  rattle 
your  slats  ?  " 

Nancy's  cheeks  flamed  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  Hank,  dear,  you  don't  mean  that  Mrs,  Miles  was 

—  cool  to  you  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  distressed  voice. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Hank  admitted,  "  only  —  oh,  Nancy,  some- 
times I  think  I  hate  all  women.     They  are  so  indecorous 

—  so  indecent,  there !  Good  heavens !  I'm  perfectly  will- 
ing that  Mrs.  Manners  should  come  along  with  us  if  she 
wants  to  so  badly  and  continues  to  behave  herself  in 
a  civil  fashion.  She  humbled  herself  before  Dr.  Burgess 
and  that's  sufficient.  And  I'm  willing  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones.  But  to  make  such  a  splurge  over  one  who  only 
a  week  ago  made  you  cry  until  your  eyes  and  nose  were 
crimson  —  O  Lord,  it's  too  disgusting  for  words.  Now 
don't  you  agree  ?  " 

"  If  she's  sorry  —  "  Nancy  began  doubtfully. 

"  Sorry  nothing ! "  cried  the  other.  "  She  simply 
wanted  to  hang  on  because  —  " 

Of  course  she  wouldn't  complete  the  sentence.  The 
girl  was  honestly  shocked  and  indignant  at  what  seemed 
to  her  the  general  fawning  attitude  of  the  greater  number 
of  the  party  towards  the  woman  she  believed  to  be 
absolutely  insincere  and  unscrupulous.  Generous  to  a 
fault  herself,  Miss  Melendy  had  condemned  Mrs.  Man- 
ners from  the  first;  and  now,  suspecting  her  motive  for 
forcing  herself  upon  a  group  of  people  who  had  repu- 
diated her,  she  scorned  her  the  more  for  her  scheming 
and  hypocrisy.  But  she  said  no  more.  Regretting 
Nancy's  perturbation,  she  endeavored  to  get  away  from 
the  subject.     Chance  helped  her  out. 


192  FIREWEED 

As  the  band  struck  up  a  composition  in  march  time, 
Nancy  clasped  her  hands  in  excitement.  Miss  Melendy 
had  never  seen  her  so  animated. 

"  Oh,  Hank,  that's  pappy's  favorite  air ! "  she  cried. 
"  It's  the  only  one  he  can  always  recognize.  Do  let's  go 
and  see  if  he  is  where  he'll  hear  it.  He's  so  pleased  and 
proud  when  he  can  tell  some  one  what  the  name  of  it  is." 

As  it  chanced,  Cotton  had  just  finished  a  stroll  and  a 
pipe,  and  sauntered  into  the  lighted  space  just  as  the 
familiar  melody  rang  out.  He  dropped  like  a  bolt  into 
the  first  empty  seat,  which  happened  to  be  that  which 
Mrs.  Miles  had  saved  for  Miss  Melendy,  and  leaned  for- 
ward, listening  eagerly. 

When  they  had  finished,  he  turned  to  the  ladies  —  Mrs. 
Manners  was  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Miles. 

"  Now  who  would  have  thought  —  do  you  happen  to 
know  what  that  last  tune  was  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

Neither  of  them  knew. 

"  Well,  now,  that's  the  Happy  Farmer,"  he  informed 
them  almost  gleefully.  "  It's  the  only  tune  I  know  for 
sure,  and  to  think  of  my  hearing  it  way  up  on  this  moun- 
tain top  in  the  heart  of  Italy.  It  carries  me  back  to  my 
early  days." 

"How's  that?"  inquired  Mrs.  Miles  affably. 

"  Well,  the  winter  I  was  studying  law  with  Judge  Pear- 
son, teaching  school  and  living  with  his  family,  his  son 
was  taking  lessons  on  the  piano-forte,  and  the  only  way 
they  could  get  him  to  practise  his  music  was  for  me  to 
sit  in  the  parlor  with  him  with  my  law  books  every  night 
after  supper.  This  Happy  Farmer  was  his  piece  —  I 
didn't  suspect  it  then,  but  later  I  came  to  believe  that  that 
was  all  Joe  ever  played  —  over  and  over  and  over  again. 
You  see  when  Nanny  began,  she  had  scales  and  all  sorts 
of  frills  I  know  he  never  had.  However,  I  got  that  one 
tune  pretty  pat.     I  used  to  catch  myself  whistling  it  as 


FIREWEED  193 

I  walked,  and  keeping  step  with  it,  and  to  this  day  it  comes 
back  to  me  now  and  then  in  court.  I  reckon  it's  when  a 
bit  of  law  comes  up  that  I  first  read  at  that  time.  I'll 
hear  it  just  as  plain:  one  and  two,  and  three  and  four, 
and  one  and  two  and  three  and  four,  and  so  on." 

He  laughed.  "  Now  Mrs.  Miles,  don't  you  go  to  think- 
ing your  old  neighbor  fit  for  treason,  stratagems  and 
spoils,  for  I  do  know  one  piece  from  another  when  the 
words  are  sung,  and  I  am  moved  by  concord  of  sweet 
sounds,  even  though  all  concourses  are  pretty  much  alike 
to  me." 

"  All  pussy-cats  are  gray  in  the  dark,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Manners. 

At  the  end  of  the  next  selection,  she  leaned  over  Mrs. 
Miles  to  ask  Cotton  why  he  did  not  ask  the  conductor 
to  repeat  his  favorite  piece.  She  declared  that  she  wanted 
to  hear  it  again  so  that  she  would  know  it  henceforth,  and 
Mrs.  Miles  was  like  minded.  Cotton  rose  and  made  his 
way  to  the  bandmaster. 

The  parley  was  an  amusing  sight  to  witness,  —  the  tall, 
thin  American  bending  over  the  short,  stout  little  Tuscan, 
both  talking,  both  gesticulating,  yet  neither  understanding 
the  other.  Then  Cotton  made  a  supreme  effort.  Once 
more  was  clearly  encore;  he  had  only  to  hum  the  first 
strain,  which  he  did  calmly  and  with  remarkable  sweetness 
of  tone,  though  he  didn't  strike  the  key  at  all,  and  the 
impression  was  conveyed.  The  leader  grasped  the 
American's  hand  in  excitement,  the  orchestra  laughed  out, 
took  up  their  instruments  eagerly  and  at  the  awaited  sign 
struck  up  the  music  with  great  gusto.  And  thereafter, 
so  long  as  the  party  remained,  and  no  one  knew  how  long 
afterwards,  that  piece  opened  each  concert. 

Erica  Manners  related  the  incident  to  Miss  Lancaster, 
who  had  remained  in  her  room,  and  who  admitted  rather 
unenthusiastically  that  it  was  very  amusing. 


194  FIREWEED 

"  Yes,  it  was  funny,"  said  Erica  musingly.  "  But,  Libby, 
it  wasn't  so  funny,  after  all,  as  it  was  for  me  .to  sit  snug- 
gled up  to  Mrs.  Miles  all  the  evening,  as  confidential  as 
Darby  and  Joan.  And  yet  —  do  you  know,  I  rather  like 
her.  It's  an  awful  mistake,  going  about  with  one's  head 
in  the  air  and  missing  the  good  wholesome  things  that 
don't  turn  sour.  And  honestly,  I  can't  help  really  taking 
to  Mrs.  Miles,  triple  chin,  funny  ears  and  all." 

"  H'm.  I  rather  wonder  what  Mrs.  Holbrook  would 
say,"  remarked  Miss  Lancaster  grimly. 

Erica  flushed  deeply.    But  she  had  nothing  to  say. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

"  No,  I  had  quite  forgotten,"  Mrs.  Manners  acknowl- 
edged with  her  pretty  slight  smile  which  was  somehow 
more  attractive,  even  more  flattering  than  one  less  indef- 
inite would  have  been.  "  But  it's  refreshing,  the  sight  of 
those  clear  green  robes,  don't  you  feel  so.  Dr.  Burgess  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  replied  with  a  courtly 
inclination  of  his  handsome  head. 

"  Poor  Madonna,  she  must  be  sick  and  tired  of  blue, 
eternal  blue,"  Erica  went  on.  "  Perhaps  that  is  the  secret 
of  her  bored,  set  smile  ?  Now  there's  something  dignified 
about  Perugino's  virgins,  and  the  green  mantle  seems  to 
suit  the  grave  serenity  of  their  faces." 

As  she  paused  to  fill  Mrs.  Burgess's  cup  and  to  glance 
about  to  see  if  any  one  else  was  ready  for  more  tea,  Dr. 
Burgess  took  up  the  topic  in  the  rather  stiff,  guide-book 
fashion  that  seems  inevitable  to  the  leader  of  a  group  of 
travelers,  however  friendly  and  informal  the  company 
may  be. 

"  Another  distinctive  touch  of  this  school  is  the  green 
tint  in  the  sky,"  he  added.  "  At  the  same  time,  I  hardly 
understand  how  they  came  by  that  in  this  high  hill  coun- 
try where  the  air  is  so  clear  that  one  could  hardly  see 
the  sky  too  blue." 

"  I  know  one  thing,  doctor,"  observed  Mrs.  Miles,  look- 
ing up  quickly  from  her  cup,  "  and  that  is,  if  the  sky 
should  ever  get  as  green  at  home  as  it  is  under  some  of 

195 


196  FIREWEED 

those  arches  in  the  pictures  we  saw  this  morning,  we'd 
all  be  down  in  our  cellars  before  you  could  say  Jack  Rob- 
inson, waiting  for  a  cyclone." 

Cotton  sat  a  little  back.  He  was  not  taking  tea  and 
had  had  thus  far  no  part  in  the  conversation.  It  seemed 
to  Erica  that  he  mingled  rather  less  with  the  others  since 
she  had  become  a  genuine  member  of  the  party.  She 
honestly  tried  to  be  the  same  in  his  absence  as  when  he 
could  hear  and  see ;  and  if  she  was  not  wholly  successful, 
it  was  because  of  what  was  beyond  her  control.  In  any 
event,  when  he  was  near,  no  matter  who  put  the  question, 
it  always  seemed  to  her  to  come  from  him.  Somehow, 
he  seemed  to  second  every  motion  even  before  it  was 
proposed.  And  now,  addressing  Dr.  Burgess,  it  was 
Cotton  she  really  seemed  to  answer. 

"  It  rather  seems  to  me  that  it's  true,  nevertheless,  doc- 
tor, that  green  tinted  sky,"  she  said  softly.  "  Raphael,  as 
you  know,  painted  his  baker's  daughter,  buxom  and  com- 
placent and  handsome  for  his  Madonna;  but  Perugino 
made  his  from  a  heavenly  vision,  so  that  the  one  is  a 
handsome  woman  and  the  other  a  sweet-eyed  saint.  And 
just  so,  it  would  seem  to  me  in  the  matter  of  the  sky: 
Perugino  would  never  paint  broad  noon.  His  sky  would 
be  early  dawn  or  more  likely  afterglow,  and  his  soul 
would  choose  the  rarest,  purest  tint  of  the  evening  sky, 
which  is  just  that  pale,  clear  green." 

Cotton  turned  his  Panama  hat  slowly  round  and  round 
and  round,  studying  it  carefully.  He  was  strangely  im- 
pressed with  Mrs.  Manners's  words,  and  by  what  they 
seemed  to  add  to  the  revelation  of  her  real  nature.  And 
yet  he  could  not  understand.  Often  he  seemed  to  be 
seeing  men  as  trees  walking. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,"  cried  Mrs.  Miles  enthusiastically, 
"  I  never  knew  any  one  who  expressed  things  so  sweetly, 
and  so  that  one  can  never  forget  them ! " 


FIREWEED  197 

Erica  flushed,  and  protesting,  tried  to  laugh  it  from  her. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  surprised  at  herself  —  almost 
frightened.  For,  in  truth,  the  words  seemed  not  to  be 
her  own.  As  once  or  twice  of  late,  she  didn't  even  feel 
sure  that  the  ideas  behind  them  had  been  hers,  —  certainly 
she  had  never  formulated  them  before.  She  had,  indeed, 
always  had  a  reputation  for  brilliancjy  in  conversation, 
and  had  made  certain  efforts  to  sustain  it,  but  sometimes 
now  she  almost  seemed  possessed.  In  the  presence  of 
Caleb  Cotton,  she  found  herself  saying  better  and  truer 
things  than  she  believed  herself  capable  of  evolving,  and 
she  had  a  distressing  dread  of  being  insincere,  of  playing 
the  hypocrite.  She  couldn't  help  herself  that  he  was 
always  in  the  background  of  her  thoughts,  but  not  only 
was  she  always  striving,  unawares,  it  seemed  to  her,  to 
please  him,  but  she  seemed  to  be  given  matter  and  words 
suited  to  that  end. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  get  out  of  it  that  way,"  declared  Mrs. 
Miles  and  turned  back  to  demand  confirmation  of  her  old 
neighbor. 

"  Yes,  it's  certainly  a  right  satisfactory  explanation," 
he  assented,  "  I  must  look  into  that  gallery  to-morrow. 
I  started  to-day,  but  I  didn't  get  far." 

He  explained  to  her  afterwards  that  he  had  encountered 
a  life-size  crucifixion  which  had  so  taken  the  heart  from 
him  that  he  had  turned  and  fled  down  into  the  valley. 

Miss  Melendy,  who  had  come  in  with  Nancy,  took 
advantage  of  the  pause. 

"  It's  the  angels  that  get  me,  I  confess,"  she  observed. 
"  Such  neat,  natty  creatures  I  never  dreamed  of,  dressed 
cap-a-pie  with  high  necks  and  tight  sleeves,  fitted  basques 
with  little  triple  peplums,  and  neat  little  fitted  and  finished 
orifices  for  the  wing  feathers  to  come  through.  And  the 
solid  way  they  rest  on  the  air  as  if  it  were  a  snow  bank ! 
I  could  sooner  see  the  virgins  and  saints  with  their  floating 


198  FIREWEED 

drapery  floating  off  to  heaven  than  the  angels,  for  all 
their  wings." 

Every  one  smiled  from  relief  and  pleasure,  for  this 
was  like  the  old  Hank.  The  girl  had  hardly  mingled  with 
the  others  at  all  of  late  and  then  had  been  silent  and  cold. 
No  one  guessed  that  she  was  only  with  them  at  the  tea 
hour  to-day  at  Nancy's  request. 

"  Well,  Miss  Melendy,  then  the  cherubs  surely  please 
you,"  remarked  Dr.  Burgess,  "  for  they're  not  hampered 
by  clothing  nor  even  by  limbs." 

"  They're  the  limit  all  right !  "  she  cried,  "  little  smirk- 
ing heads !  I  pass  'em  right  by,  for  they  g^ve  me  visions 
of  the  French  Revolution." 

"  Oh,  Hank,  I  think  they're  very  sweet,"  protested 
Mrs.  Miles, 

"  And  they  fit  into  the  composition  so  nicely,"  added 
Maude  Griffiths  demurely. 

"  Oh,  Maudy !  "  Miss  Melendy  thrust  her  hands  deep 
into  her  pockets.  She  wore  Holland  linen  with  a  red  tie, 
but  her  usual  ruddy  color  was  wanting.  "  Now  you're 
playing  Mrs.  Gilpin  again.  Well,  I  don't  mind  ghosts; 
old  Truepenny  is  my  favorite  character  in  Shakespeare; 
but  I  draw  the  line  at  headless  bodies  or  bodiless 
heads." 

"  Now  that  you  have  said  that.  Hank,  I  shall  probably 
always  think  of  it  when  I  look  at  my  picture  of  cherubs 
hanging  in  my  bedroom  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Miles  re- 
proachfully, "  and  yet,  their  heads  peep  out  from  the 
clouds  so  their  bodies  might  well  be  hidden." 

She  sighed.  "  Well,  I  can  still  enjoy  my  favorite  pic- 
ture," she  remarked  hopefully.  "  It  was  a  wedding  pres- 
ent from  an  intimate  friend  who  has  since  died.  You 
probably  know  it.  Dr.  Burgess,  for  a  good  many  people 
seem  to  have  it.  It  represents  two  beautiful  children 
in    a    boat    on    the    brink    of    rapids,    but    over    their 


FIREWEED  199 

heads  are  their  guardian  angels  ready  to  rescue  them. 
Their  draperies  would  satisfy  even  you,  you  naughty 
Hank." 

"  Sure,  Mrs.  Miles.  I  know  that  picture  and  it's  all 
right,"  responded  Hank,  who  felt  a  bit  guilty.  Nancy 
reached  her  hand  down  into  Hank's  pocket  and  pressed 
her  hand  in  token  of  understanding. 

"  Such  pictures  were  more  common  in  the  days  when 
mothers  rocked  their  babies  to  sleep  and  sang  '  Hush,  my 
babe,  lie  still  and  slumber,' "  remarked  Dr.  Burgess. 

"  What !  "  cried  Cotton,  "  Do  you  mean  they  don't  sing 
it  to-day?  My  eye!  What  a  back  number  I  am,  to  be 
sure!" 

"  Pappy  used  to  sing  it  to  me  by  the  hour,"  said 
Nancy.  "  He  used  to  walk  the  floor  with  naughty  me, 
singing  it  over  and  over." 

"  Did  you  hush  ?  "  demanded  Hank. 

"  Only  until  he  stopped  singing,"  returned  Nancy  with 
her  pathetic  little  forced  smile.  "  Then,  they  tell  me,  I 
began  again," 

Miss  Melendy,  who  certainly  was  not  at  her  best  to-day, 
turned  to  Cotton. 

"  Suppose  you  sing  it  now  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  I'm  not  allowed  to  use  my  voice  so  soon  after  eat- 
ing," he  returned  in  a  falsetto  that  made  them  laugh. 

"  Nonsense,  you  haven't  taken  a  bite." 

Whereupon  Cotton  astonished  them  all  by  rising,  bow- 
ing in  grandiose  manner  and  singing  through  the  one 
and  only  stanza  he  knew  of  the  old  cradle  hymn.  Then 
he  made  a  hasty  retreat  amid  the  laughter  that  was  as 
spontaneous  as  it  was  affectionate,  Dr.  Burgess  follow- 
ing after. 

To  an  Italian  lady  sitting  in  the  further  corner  of  the 
garden,  it  was  a  curious  experience.  The  group  of 
women  and  girls,  typical  American  travelers  with  their 


200  FIREWEED 

handsome,  white-haired,  florid-faced,  clerical  guide, 
against  the  background  of  palms  and  oleanders  was  a  not 
uncommon  sight.  But  the  inordinately  tall  and  thin 
stranger  in  their  midst  was  different  from  them,  and 
from  any  one  else  she  had  ever  seen,  with  the  wondering 
adventurous  eyes  of  youth  in  a  worn,  weary  face,  stand- 
ing with  his  shabby  hat  in  his  hands  singing  a  singular 
ditty  in  a  voice  of  sweetness  and  power  but  with  appar- 
ently no  sense  of  time  or  pitch  or  key.  What  was  the 
significance  of  it  all?  Presently  she  addressed  Mrs. 
Manners,  the  only  one  of  the  party  who  understood  and 
spoke  Italian  fluently,  and  asked  whether  the  song  the 
signor  sang  were  perhaps  adapted  to  Mexican  or  Indian 
notation. 

Erica  laughed  as  she  repeated  the  query  to  Cotton  that 
evening. 

"  I  suppose  I  made  up  or  made  over  the  tune  and  then 
held  to  my  invention,"  he  admitted.  "  But  it  was  Nanny's 
fault  that  my  range  was  so  limited.  I  could  do  *  Poor  Old 
Aunt  Abby '  famously  once,  but  after  she  came  to  under- 
stand the  words  it  distressed  her  so  to  hear  that  the  gray 
goose  was  dead,  I  had  to  give  it  up," 

"  I  always  felt  that  it  made  it  all  so  simple.  There  was 
the  dead  goose  and  the  feathers,  so  why  all  that  fuss  about 
breaking  the  news  ?  "  she  returned. 

"  Ah,  but  that's  the  whole  thing.  It's  live  feathers 
they're  after.  I  reckon  you  never  slept  on  a  feather 
bed?" 

"  I  have  slept  under  one  in  Germany  and  nearly  smoth- 
ered," she  retorted,  and  they  laughed  together  almost  in 
the  easy  way  of  old  friends. 

They  stood  in  the  lobby,  and  there  being  no  further 
pretext  for  keeping  him,  Erica  turned  reluctantly. 

"  I  shall  go  to  see  your  green-robed  Maries  to-morrow," 
he  said  by  way  of  farewell. 


FIREWEED  20I 

Erica  accepted  the  announcement  as  if  it  were  a  per- 
sonal tribute. 

'*  I  'm  so  glad,"  she  said,  and  added,  somewhat  irrele- 
vantly :  "  I  suppose  you  know  Browning's  Guardian 
Angel?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't,"  he  said. 

"  I  wish  —  I  wish  you  would  let  me  read  it  to  you  ?  " 
she  proposed  rather  humbly. 

"  You  have  the  book  with  you  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  I'd  like  right  well  to  hear  it,  if  it  isn't  too  much 
trouble  to  fetch  the  book,"  he  assured  her. 

She  returned  quickly  with  the  volume  and  they  sat 
down  in  a  little  alcove  furnished  in  wicker.  Erica  read 
the  verses  with  feeling,  and  Cotton  listened  with  his 
wonted  concentrated  attention,  which  was,  however,  trib- 
ute rather  to  the  poet  than  to  the  reader. 

She  realized  this,  but  after  the  first  pang  was  content 
to  have  it  so.  For  she  read  in  his  face  the  response  to 
the  solace  of  the  poem.  The  lines  in  his  brow,  indeed, 
seemed  rather  to  deepen  than  to  decrease,  but  it  seemed 
to  be  by  reason  of  his  relaxing  his  habitual  restraint. 
And  over  and  above  and  through  the  weariness,  one  felt 
a  sense  of  serenity  and  solace  that  made  it  seem  somehow 
better  than  any  want  of  weariness,  any  utter  rest  could 
have  been. 

He  thanked  her  simply  and  asked  leave  to  borrow  the 
volume  to  read  to  Nancy  and  Miss  Melendy.  Erica 
paled  slightly  at  mention  of  Miss  Melendy,  but  handed 
over  the  book  cordially  and  went  on  her  way  at  once. 

Which  might  have  intimated  that  Mrs.  Manners  was 
really  changed,  as  every  one  except  Miss  Melendy  and 
Miss  Lancaster  believed.  Perhaps  the  question  were 
rather  whether  the  change,  which  was  unmistakable  out- 
wardly, were  radical  and  permanent. 


202  FIREWEED 

Erica  had,  indeed,  resolved  that  it  should  be.  Deeply 
moved,  she  had  risen  above  her  desire  to  do  anything, 
make  any  sacrifice  of  pride  or  resentment  in  order  to 
remain  near  Caleb  Cotton ;  she  had  suddenly  but  sincerely 
desired  something  higher  and  better ;  she  had  longed  to  be 
different,  irrespective  or  almost  irrespective  of  conse- 
quences, to  live  justly,  to  love  mercy  and  perhaps  even 
to  walk  humbly  with  her  God.  She  had  clenched  her 
hands,  set  her  teeth,  and  boldly  entered  what  she  believed 
was  to  be  the  narrow  way. 

It  had  been  hard,  terribly  hard,  to  humble  herself 
before  Dr.  Burgess ;  but  he  had  met  her  so  kindly  that  it 
was  soon  over.  And  after  that  there  was  no  struggle. 
She  had  only  entered  the  narrow  way  when  it  became 
broad,  easy  and  comfortable,  rose-strewn,  as  it  were. 
Erica  had  had  no  chance  to  sue  or  plead  or  struggle. 
It  looked  as  if  the  gods  themselves  were  against  her  — 
in  quite  another  fashion  than  the  stars  that  in  their 
courses  fought  against  Sisera  —  they  would  not  allow 
her  to  taste  the  wholescwne  savor  of  rue. 

The  situation  was  human  and  natural.  At  her  best, 
even  at  her  second  best,  Erica  Manners  was  a  charming 
creature.  And  these  simple,  kindly  travelers,  who  had 
so  taken  to  her  from  the  first  as  to  have  to  be  repulsed 
for  their  unwelcome  ardor,  were  ready  to  flock  back  to 
her  side  at  the  first  intimation  of  friendly  feeling  upon 
her  part,  forgiving,  ignoring,  and  presently  quite  forget- 
ting past  unpleasantnesses,  as  they  clustered  about  her, 
and  hung  upon  her  words. 

And  fantastic  as  it  might  seem  —  utterly  absurd  and 
monstrous  as  Delia  Holbrook  would  have  conceived  it  to 
be  —  Erica  Manners  liked  all  this,  —  nay,  reveled  in  it. 
She  drank  their  appreciation,  praises  and  flattery  grate- 
fully :  she  began  to  delight  in  their  idiosyncrasies,  to  enjoy 
acting  the  Lady  from  Philadelphia  to  such  endearing 


FIREWEED  203 

Peterkins.  She  liked  being  consulted  as  to  hats  and 
gowns  and  colors  and  combinations ;  to  air  her  sometimes 
rather  trite  opinions  as  to  art  and  poetry ;  to  have  her  little 
sallies  greeted  with  such  wholesome,  infectious  mirth. 
Furthermore,  she  was  grateful  in  her  heart  of  hearts  to 
have  recaptured  unconsciously  that  old  lost  gift  of  care- 
less good-nature  that  had  really  been  her  birthright.  But 
better  than  anyone  else,  Erica  Manners  knew  that  she 
was  receiving  rather  than  giving;  in  no  sense  was  she 
enduring  hardness;  she  wasn't  even  climbing  hillocks  or 
stepping  over  the  smallest  obstacles. 

However,  if  the  ascent  from  Avernus  was  like  rolling 
down  hill  on  velvet  sward,  she  couldn't  help  it,  and  she 
might  as  well  make  the  best  of  it.  And  after  all,  the  sit- 
uation wasn't  so  desperate  as  that  of  the  king  in  the  old 
tale  who  had  to  fling  his  precious  ring  into  the  sea:  for 
there  was  the  implacable  Miss  Melendy  in  the  background. 
She  didn't  say  or  do  anything,  indeed.  But  there  she 
was,  just,  righteous,  unbending,  implacable,  a  cloud  upon 
the  horizon  that  might  at  any  time  darken  the  whole 
heaven. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

To  herself,  Elizabeth  Lancaster  said  that  she  had  no 
use  for  this  last  pose  of  Erica's.  She  enjoyed  a  certain 
relief  in  that  she  was  no  longer  bullied,  but  she  found 
Mrs.  Manners  a  far  less  interesting  personage.  More- 
over, she  resented  her  own  sudden  drop  into  obscurity; 
she  had  been  about  as  constantly  as  she  could  manage  it 
with  the  other  members  of  the  party  until  Mrs.  Manners 
began  to  mingle  with  them;  but  now  that  she  belonged 
to  the  inner  circle,  there  didn't  appear  to  be  a  place  for 
Miss  Lancaster  even  at  the  edge  of  the  outer.  There  was 
nothing  for  her,  however,  but  to  wait  patiently  until  the 
pose  should  begin  to  pall  and  she  should  come  into  her 
own  again. 

Miss  Melendy,  on  the  contrary,  believed  the  import  of 
the  game  to  be  serious.  The  girl  sincerely  believed  Mrs. 
Manners  to  be  hoodwinking  the  whole  party  in  general 
for  the  sake  of  deceiving  Mr.  Cotton  in  particular.  She 
feared  ill  would  come  from  it ;  but  there  was  nothing  she 
could  do.  It  would  be  worse  than  bootless  to  play  Cas- 
sandra. Nevertheless,  she  couldn't  follow  suit  and  join 
in  the  general  adulation.  She  kept  apart  from  the  others 
when  Mrs.  Manners  was  among  them  —  which  was 
almost  constantly.  And  half  unconsciously,  she  was  on 
her  guard  for  whatever  might  happen. 

Naturally,  it  came  about  that  she  devoted  herself  only 
the  more  exclusively  to  Nancy.  But  she  was  the  more 
disheartened  the  more  she  saw  of  Mrs.  Manners.     What- 

204 


FIREWEED  205 

ever  the  present  attitude  of  the  latter  might  impart,  Hank 
felt  convinced  that  she  would  not  lose  her  strangle  hold 
upon  Stokes. 

Presently  it  came  to  Miss  Melendy  disconcertingly  that 
she  had  somehow  insensibly  abandoned  her  purpose  of 
straightening  out  the  tangle  of  Nancy's  fate,  and  was 
working  merely  toward  the  futile  end  of  persuading  her 
to  forget.  That,  Nancy  wouldn't  do  with  eternity  before 
her ;  but  with  Mrs.  Manners  blocking  the  way,  what  else 
remained?  And  Hank  not  only  kept  on,  but  with  aug- 
mented energy. 

On  their  first  day  at  Assisi,  she  put  Nancy  through  a 
program  she  had  thoughtfully  mapped  out,  and  was 
rather  surprised  that  evening  to  realize  that  Nancy 
seemed  stronger  than  she  had  done  since  they  had  left 
Paris.  But  her  satisfaction  was  not  unmixed.  For, 
after  all,  it  was  a  counter-attraction  she  sought  for 
Nancy  —  not  resignation  to  her  fate.  The  girl  had 
followed  in  the  footsteps  of  St.  Francis  rather  too 
successfully;  Hank  rebelled  in  her  heart  against  any 
solution  of  the  problem  through  martyrdom  and  saint- 
hood. 

The  evening  was  wonderful,  with  a  waning  moon  flood- 
ing the  hills  with  soft  light.  The  others  had  gone  for  a 
stroll.  Miss  Melendy,  depressed  and  perplexed,  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  deserted  garden,  both  desiring  and 
dreading  to  ponder  upon  certain  matters  and  draw  from 
them  their  logical  conclusions,  —  if  such  there  were. 
Presently  Nancy  joined  her.  For  some  time  they  sat 
silent  in  the  beautiful,  neglected  old  garden  among  the 
long  shadows  and  pallid  open  spaces.  As  Nancy,  still 
in  a  dream  of  the  visions  of  the  day,  began  to  sing  an 
old  hymn  softly  to  herself.  Miss  Melendy's  thoughts  re- 
verted to  that  mysterious  twilight  hour  in  the  church  out 
yonder. 


2o6  FIREWEED 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  her  depression  had  sent  her  out 
upon  a  long,  soHtary  walk.  Returning,  hot  and  weary, 
she  had  paused  irresolutely  before  the  church,  and  enter- 
ing had  hidden  herself  in  a  dark  corner  of  its  cool  depths. 
The  hour  was  so  late  that  it  was  unlikely  that  even  tour- 
ists would  be  about.  Everyone  would  be  dressing  for 
dinner.  She  was  alone  and  grateful  for  the  solace  that 
seemed  to  draw  the  bitterness  from  her  aching  heart. 

But  presently  the  curtain  was  drawn  and  a  figure  stole 
in,  passed  down  the  side  aisle  and  paused  before  an  altar. 
To  her  annoyance,  she  saw  that  it  was  Mrs.  Manners. 
That  lady  might  have  committed  any  act  of  depredation, 
and  Miss  Melendy  would  not  have  felt  the  slightest  sur- 
prise ;  as  it  was,  the  girl  felt  that  she  was  dreaming.  For 
the  newcomer  stopped,  glanced  around,  then  crossed  her- 
self with  nervous  haste  and  dropped  on  her  knees  before 
the  shrine,  burying  her  face  in  her  arms  on  the  railing. 
Miss  Melendy  forgot  everything  in  her  absolute  amaze- 
ment, until  she  was  startled  by  a  tiny  ray  of  light  stealing 
in  without  the  slightest  accompanying  sound. 

The  girl  shrank  back  further  into  her  corner  as  she 
made  out  the  dark,  very  tall  gaunt  figure  of  a  man  who 
started  noiselessly  up  the  center  aisle  but  stopped  short 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  motionless  figure  bowed  before 
the  shrine  in  the  south  aisle.  Then  he  hid  himself  in  a 
corner  corresponding  to  Miss  Melendy's.  No  sound  had 
disturbed  the  silence  and  apparently  Mrs.  Manners  was  as 
little  aware  of  the  presence  of  anyone  else  in  the  place 
as  Mr.  Cotton  was  unaware  of  Hank  herself.  And 
truly  it  didn't  seem  her  part  to  divulge  the  fact  of  her 
presence. 

Some  minutes  passed,  perhaps  five.  Mrs.  Manners 
rose  and  moved  slowly  and  softly  towards  the  great  cen- 
tral door.  As  she  passed  a  spot  in  the  nave  where  a 
shaft  of  mild  radiance  fell  through  the  rose  window  to 


FIREWEED  207 

the  pavement,  Miss  Melendy  saw  her  face  and  saw  that 
she  had  wept.  Again,  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  in 
an  uncertain,  faltering  way  and  passed  out  through  the 
curtain. 

Breathless,  and  with  strangely  beating  heart,  Miss 
Melendy  sat  in  her  dark  corner,  confused  and  almost 
dazed.  Because  he,  too,  had  seen,  she  would  not  make 
herself  known  to  Mr.  Cotton,  —  not  if  she  had  to  stay 
in  the  church  all  night.  But  soon  he,  too,  came  out  of 
the  shadows,  and  standing  where  Mrs.  Manners  had 
stood,  looked  up  to  the  shaft  of  light  that  had  fallen  upon 
her.  Then  he,  too,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  but 
unfalteringly,  simply  and  reverently.  Passing  out,  he 
left  Miss  Melendy  alone  in  a  tumult  of  feeling  she  could 
neither  understand  nor  control. 

Neither  could  she  understand  it  now.  But  presently 
she  couldn't  longer  endure  the  retrospect.  In  some  way 
or  another,  she  must  free  herself  from  it  at  least  for 
the  time  being. 

"  Oh,  Nan,  I  must  tell  you  of  some  people  I  ran  up 
against  when  I  was  off  on  my  hike  this  afternoon,"  she 
said  suddenly,  "  two  young  fellows  on  bikes.  I  thought 
by  the  look  of  them  they  were  English,  but  one  of  them 
broke  out  singing  *  You're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in 
May  '  and  I  knew  in  a  jiffy  they  were  Americans.  Honey, 
suppose  you  sing  it  now  instead  of  those  dreary  old  hymns." 

"  But  Hank,  I  don't  know  it.     I  never  heard  it." 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike.  Well,  I  can't  let  you  go  to 
bed  that  ignorant.     It  goes  like  this." 

And  Hank  thrust  her  hands  into  her  pockets,  threw  her 
head  back  and  assumed  a  jaunty  attitude. 

"  You're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May, 
I  am  waiting  for  you  day  by  day  —  " 

So  far,  so  good.     But  here  the  girl's  bravado  failed 


2o8  FIREWEED 

her.  She  faltered,  and  instead  of  coming  out  strongly 
on  the  last  verse  she  only  just  managed  to  carry  it 
through : 

"  I  love  you  —  in  the  —  same  old  way." 

She  choked  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  But  Nancy 
did  not  realize.  For  suddenly  she  had  bowed  her  head  on 
the  arm  of  the  bench  where  they  sat  and  was  weeping 
convulsively,  all  the  solace  of  saintship  vanquished  by  that 
strain  of  a  music-hall  song. 

Miss  Melendy,  who  had  never  seen  Nancy  give  way  to 
tears  before,  was  alarmed  and  frightened  as  well  as  over- 
whelmed with  self-reproach.  Throwing  her  arms  about 
the  sobbing  girl,  she  strove  by  every  means  within  her 
power  to  soothe  her.  And  Nancy,  who  had  had  long, 
sad  practise  in  self-control,  choked  back  her  sobs  and 
after  only  a  few  minutes  raised  her  head  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  Poor  darling,  you're  tired  and  that's  a  bally  old  song 
—  it  like  to  made  me  cry  myself,"  exclaimed  Hank 
warmly.  "  It's  an  immoral  song,  too,  honey,  for  what  it 
makes  one  cry  for  is  something  one  couldn't  have  in  any 
event,  —  something  wholly  out  of  reach,  like  that  poor 
old  moon  with  the  sunken  cheek.  And  let  me  tell  you, 
honey,  it's  immoral  to  get  to  wanting  the  moon ;  for  if  one 
does,  no  matter  what  beautiful  things  are  offered  one  or 
what  good  friends  one  has,  one  doesn't  in  one's  secret 
heart  give  a  damn  for  any  one  of  them.  You  want  the 
moon  or  nothing,  and  you  just  wear  yourself  out  trying 
to  hide  it  from  the  world." 

Hank  laughed,  rather  uncertainly. 

"  There !  I've  preached  myself  a  little  sermon  with 
that  Home-Sweet-Home  sort  of  ditty  for  a  text  or  a 
refrain.  Well,  don't  you  care.  Whatever  comes,  honey, 
I  shall  love  you  in  the  same  old  way,  —  and  I  hope  you 
won't  forget  your  faithful  old  Hank." 


FIREWEED  209 

Meantime,  the  person  who  might  have  represented  the 
moon  in  this  instance,  —  Philip  Stokes,  Esquire,  —  was 
wearing  out  the  long  hours  of  a  long  and  dreary  summer. 
He  was  missing  and  wanting  Erica  Manners  sadly.  For 
a  little,  he  had  somewhat  appeased  his  hungry  longing 
by  the  daily  letters  he  wrote  her.  But  after  a  certain 
time,  though  he  still  continued  it  as  an  occupation,  it 
ceased  to  be  a  resource.  Erica  seldom  wrote  to  him  and 
never  answered  his  letters,  and  it  began  to  seem  like 
talking  to  a  deaf  person  in  the  dark.  He  began  to  won- 
der whether  she  even  read  his  letters.  Certainly  she 
would  never  peruse  them.  And  he  had  visions  of  her 
tossing  them  aside  after  the  most  cursory  glance,  just 
as  he  had  seen  her  use  Manners's  letters  during  past  sum- 
mers when  she  had  received  them  at  the  shore  or  moun- 
tains. 

He  continued  to  write  because  he  could  not  help  it; 
but  he  did  so  against  his  judgment  and  against  his  will. 
He  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  persisting  in  the  circum- 
stances. Unstable  as  water,  he  pronounced  himself,  a 
poor-spirited  cur  indeed  to  be  thrusting  his  missives  upon 
one  who  did  not  want  them.  He  belabored  himself  for 
want  of  spirit  and  of  pride.  Why,  in  heaven's  name,  he 
asked  himself,  since  he  despised  himself  and  Erica  de- 
spised him  the  more  for  doing  so,  should  he  continue  to 
play  the  fool ! 

Shrugging  his  shoulders,  the  young  man  confessed 
that  it  was  beyond  him.  After  all,  he  didn't  know  what 
he  wanted  anyhow.  He  wanted  Erica?  True,  but  sup- 
pose—  suppose  the  impossible:  suppose  he  should  get 
her?  Suppose  Erica  should  yield  and  he  should  marry 
her? 

What  then  ?  Philip  Stokes  said  to  himself  that  it  would 
be  hell  —  nothing  less  —  to  live  with  Erica  if  she  didn't 
love  him.     And  she  simply  wasn't  capable  of  loving  him 


2IO  FIREWEED 

nor  anyone  else:  it  wasn't  in  her.  She  hadn't  even  any 
real  affection  for  Delia,  who  worshiped  Erica  in  her  odd, 
secret,  passionate  way.  Furthermore,  Erica  was  so  thor- 
oughly, so  inveterately  selfish,  so  brutally  unfeeling,  that 
one  would  be  rash  to  the  extremity,  foolhardy  to  the  point 
of  madness,  to  adventure  marriage  with  her.  As  for 
himself,  whose  tastes  were  really  what  is  called  "  domes- 
tic," who  had  in  spite  of  himself  and  his  fortunes  kept 
intact  in  his  heart  through  the  years  the  vision  brought 
out  of  early  boyhood,  of  home,  firelight,  motherhood  and 
repose,  —  for  such  as  he,  he  could  not  doubt  that  what 
he  now  experienced  as  unhappiness  would  be  as  naught 
in  comparison  with  the  torture  he  would  undergo  daily 
and  hourly  in  that  hypothetical  position  in  which  he  en- 
deavored to  see  himself.  And  yet  —  what  a  travesty  it 
all  was !  —  notwithstanding  all  this,  it  was  not  in  him  to 
gfive  over  the  bootless  struggle  to  win  her. 

Stokes  also  missed  Caleb  Cotton,  albeit  in  a  quite  dif- 
ferent fashion.  His  craving  for  Erica  Manners  was  of 
the  morbid  nature  of  the  craving  for  drugs  or  narcotics ; 
but  he  missed  Cotton  and  wanted  his  companionship  as 
one  wants  healthful  pleasures  or  simple  food.  And  this, 
Stokes  had  somehow  not  anticipated  as  he  had  the  other. 
He  began  to  realize  how  much  more  dreary  life  was  — • 
his  own  peculiarly  complicated  life  —  without  the  solace 
of  the  Cotton  hearthstone.  And  whereas  thoughts  of 
Erica  only  induced  pain,  he  liked  dwelling  upon  the  Cot- 
tons and  conjecturing  upon  their  happiness  in  Europe. 
He  liked  to  think  of  Cotton  surveying  in  his  homely, 
genial  way,  every  foot  of  the  continent  he  came  in  con- 
tact with,  and  of  sweet  Nancy  filling  her  mind  with  visions 
of  pure  beauty.  Ah !  it  would  be  good  indeed  to  have 
them  back  again,  father  and  daughter.  It  would  be  good 
to  hear  Cotton's  humorous  reminiscences  as  one  thing  or 
another  should  call  them  forth,  and  to  listen  to  Nancy's 


FIREWEED  211 

artless  prattle.  Artless  prattle!  How  Hank  Melendy 
would  have  raged  at  the  phrase. 

The  week-end  following  Austria's  ultimatum  to  Servia, 
Stokes  spent  with  his  sister  at  the  shore.  They  spoke  of 
that  diplomatic  incident  briefly  and  discussed  at  some 
length  the  verdict  in  the  Cailloux  case.  Presently  Mrs. 
Holbrook  made  a  casual  remark  that  made  other  foreign 
news  seem  quite  unimportant. 

"  Oh,  Phil,  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you  the  best  joke 
yet !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly.  "  What  do  you  suppose 
Erica  has  gone  and  done  ?  " 

Though  his  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating,  he  answered 
glibly  enough : 

"  Married  a  count,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Goodness,  no,  Phil,  —  something  far  more  banal  than 
that.    Erica's  actually  joined  a  party !  " 

"For  the  love  of  Mike,  what  of  that?"  he  growled. 
"  It  seems  to  me  there's  something  mighty  near  banality 
in  introducing  a  trivial  matter  in  such  a  disgustingly 
sensational  way." 

Delia  grinned  in  her  ugliest  fashion.  "  But,  Phil,  you 
know  how  she  has  always  scorned  any  such  thing  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  Erica  had  joined  the 
Salvation  Army,  your  announcement  would  still  have  been 
a  bit  flamboyant,"  he  muttered. 

"  The  other  seemed  sufficiently  flamboyant  to  me,  I 
own,"  she  confessed,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

As  she  puffed  at  it  she  eyed  him  in  an  exceedingly 
irritating  way.     Presently  he  began  to  stare  back. 

"  See  here,  Del  Stokes,  if  you've  got  anything  up  your 
sleeve,  why  don't  you  either  out  with  it  or  shut  up  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  the  Italian  ambassador  is  here?"  she 
asked  casually. 

"  Only  twice  before." 


212  FIREWEED 

She  finished  her  cigarette  silently.  As  she  drew  another 
from  her  little  silver  case,  she  remarked  pleasantly  that 
there  were  parties  and  parties. 

Her  brother  couldn't  endure  it  longer  and  lighted  a 
cigar,  though  he  abominated  smoking  with  Delia.  She 
took  a  fiendish  delight  in  torturing  him,  bringing  up 
Erica's  name  merely  to  madden  him;  and  he  sulkily  un- 
derstood her  exultation.  But  he  couldn't  help  following 
her  lead. 

"  Erica  enjoying  her  widowhood  ?  "  he  asked.  "  When 
did  she  write  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  early  in  the  month,  for  I  got  it  ten 
days  or  a  fortnight  ago.  She  seems  at  least  as  bored  as 
usual." 

They  sat  in  a  tiny  balcony  outside  her  room.  Stokes 
looked  straight  into  the  eye  of  the  bright  star  of  the 
Charioteer,  but  with  scant  appreciation  of  its  brilliancy. 

"  What  in  hell  is  it  you  want  me  to  ask,  Del  ?  "  he 
suddenly  demanded,  turning  and  facing  her. 

Delia  only  shrugged  her  bare  shoulders,  which  her 
brother  considered  too  dark  and  bony  to  be  so  largely 
visible. 

"  I  suppose  it's  a  Cook's  Tour  ?  "  he  ventured. 

"  No,  brother  dear,  you've  another  guess  coming." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  it's  a  Christian  Endeavor  con- 
vention or  a  W.C.T.U.  excursion  ?  " 

"  Keep  your  shirt  on,  brother.  It's  simply  a  small, 
select  party  personally  conducted  by  a  smug  little  white- 
haired  clergyman  from  Indiana  —  I'm  not  sure  she  said 
he  was  little,  though.  Burgess,  I  believe  is  the  old  fel- 
low's name." 

Burgess  —  Indiana  —  for  a  few  moments  Stokes  strug- 
gled with  vague  recollections.  Then  on  a  sudden  it 
flashed  over  him  that  the  name  Burgess  figured  in  Cot- 
ton's address  —  and  that  the  party  to  which  he  belonged 


FIREWEED  213 

had  been  made  up  in  Indiana.  And  even  then  it  was  an 
appreciable  interval  before  the  real  significance  of  it  all 
struck  him.  Then,  however,  it  struck  hard.  It  seemed 
to  stun  him,  to  fell  him  on  the  spot,  as  it  were. 

"  My  God,  Delia !  "  he  exclaimed  rising  and  standing 
over  her,  "  you  can't  mean  that  Erica's  in  the  same  group 
with  Mr.  Cotton  ?  " 

Her  dark,  oriental  eyes  seemed  to  smolder.  It  was 
something  of  a  triumph  to  get  such  a  rise  out  of  Phil. 

"  Aren't  you,  perhaps,  over-dramatic,  Phil  ?  Aren't 
you  yourself  somewhat  flamboyant  in  your  gesticula- 
tion ?  "  she  murmured.  "  Can't  two  persons  from  the  self- 
same city  belong  to  the  same  excursion  party  without  your 
becoming  hysterical  and  tearing  your  hair?" 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  Erica  has  forced  herself  upon 
the  party  that  Mr.  Cotton  went  over  with?  Is  Erica 
really  as  brazen  as  that  ?  "  he  cried  hotly,  tossing  his  cigar 
over  the  railing. 

"  Erica's  a  good  sport,  just  as  of  old,"  she  said  lightly. 
"  And  she's  certainly  in  the  same  party  with  your  rever- 
end friend  and  meeting  him  daily." 

She  laughed.  "  Erica'll  give  him  his  come-uppings. 
Don't  you  forget  that,  brother,"  she  said  tauntingly. 

He  left  her  abruptly.  He  passed  a  wretched  night, 
storming  over  this  indignity  to  his  friend.  It  has  been 
seen  that  his  passion  did  not  make  him  blind  to  Erica 
Manners's  faults;  on  the  contrary,  it  rather  seemed  to 
make  him  the  more  keenly  aware  of  them.  Because 
Erica  did  a  thing  never  made  it  seem  right  to  him ;  it  was 
more  likely  to  seem  wrong,  utterly  abominable.  The  pity 
of  it  was  that  this  never  made  any  diflference  in  his  feeling 
towards  her. 

Now,  however,  for  the  first  time,  some  such  contin- 
gency threatened.  It  was  as  if  someone  whose  deeds 
one  has  invariably  washed  one's  hands  of,  had  attacked 


214  FIREWEED 

one's  mother.  Stokes's  friendship  for  Cotton  was  the 
strongest  affection  of  his  Hfe,  and  ranked  next  in  depths 
to  his  passion  for  Erica  Manners.  And  when  tidings 
came  thus  to  the  younger  man,  indicating  that  she  had 
broken  in  upon  the  first  real  holiday  of  Cotton's  life, 
impinging  upon  his  happiness  and  well  being,  he  was 
deeply  and  fiercely  indignant. 

It  was  so  brazen  an  action,  he  repeated  to  himself 
again  and  again,  to  thrust  herself  thus  upon  his  daily 
notice  and  recall  so  disagreeably  to  his  mind  that  which 
his  friends  had  wished  him  to  travel  abroad  to  forget. 
Furthermore,  Erica  was  the  sort  of  woman  to  be  most 
repellent  of  her  sex  to  a  simple,  straightforward,  chival- 
rous soul  like  Cotton.  He  might  leave  the  party,  of 
course,  but  Stokes  knew  how  pleasant  he  had  found 
those  with  whom  he  and  Nancy  had  crossed,  and  besides, 
there  was  Nancy  to  consider.  Her  father  would  hate  to 
have  her  in  constant  contact  with  a  woman  like  Mrs. 
Manners,  and  yet  he  would  hate  to  take  her  away  from 
the  others,  some  of  whom  were  her  old  friends.  On  the 
whole,  Stokes  felt  that  he  would  remain,  and  his  journey 
would  be  of  the  nature  of  an  enforced  holiday  in  a  hos- 
pital or  at  the  dentist's. 

As  for  Erica,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  did 
she  mean  by  her  behavior?  Though  he  pondered  long 
over  this  matter,  her  lover  could  get  no  clew  to  the  mys- 
tery. Erica  was  selfish  through  and  through,  but  he  had 
never  believed  her  small  nor  mean.  It  didn't  seem  like 
her  to  do  anything  like  this  for  revenge,  —  that  she  would 
stoop  to  petty,  nagging  retaliation,  particularly  since  she 
must  be  herself  nearly  as  uncomfortable  as  Cotton.  In- 
deed, when  all  was  said,  it  must  be  more  unpleasant  for 
her  than  for  him.  Erica  wouldn't  suffer  discomfort  with- 
out good  cause.  There  was  some  deep  purpose  under- 
neath. 


FIREWEED  215 

As  he  paced  the  floor  of  his  bedroom  in  the  small  hours 
of  the  morning,  it  came  to  Philip  Stokes  that  his  sister 
might  know  of  this  further.  It  wasn't  unlikely  that 
Erica  would  have  informed  her  fully;  she  had  always 
been  exceedingly  frank  with  Delia,  and  would  hardly 
mention  this  inexplicable  fact  without  explanation.  And 
he  decided  that  he  would  have  it  out  of  Delia  if  he  had 
to  remain  here  a  week  to  put  it  through. 

With  that  thought  he  went  back  to  bed  and  fell  at  once 
into  sleep,  troubled  though  it  was.  With  the  same  thought 
he  woke  in  the  early  dawn.  And  with  it  still  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  he  waited  impatiently  for  the  first  moment 
when  he  might  present  himself  before  his  sister's  door, 
which  was  not  until  twelve,  noon. 

But  before  that  time  something  happened  that  drove 
that  and  all  else  wholly  from  Philip  Stokes's  thoughts. 
And  he  returned  to  the  city  without  seeing  Delia. 


CHAPTER   XX 

Miss  Melendy  had  come  to  be  as  sensitive  to  the  sight 
of  Mrs,  Manners's  square,  gray  letters  with  the  bold, 
handsome  superscription  as  if  she  were  herself  jealously 
interested  in  the  writer.  She  had  constantly  to  maneuver 
to  make  them  inconspicuous  among  the  other  mail,  and 
to  keep  Nancy  from  the  letter  rack.  For  they  were 
legion,  those  maddeningly  uniform  letters.  It  seemed  to 
Miss  Melendy  that  they  arrived  by  every  mail,  irrespective 
of  steamers. 

On  the  fourth  morning  in  Rome,  Miss  Melendy  came 
down  ten  minutes  after  the  others,  Nancy  among  them, 
had  set  forth  together  for  the  Vatican.  She  found  a 
letter  for  herself  and  half-absently  noted  that  there  were 
two  for  Mrs.  Manners.  There  was  none  for  anyone 
else,  which  meant  that  the  others  had  taken  theirs  along 
with  them.  She  rather  wondered  that  Mrs.  Manners 
should  have  left  hers.  She  had  an  elegant  little  bag  to 
match  every  gown  or  suit  she  wore,  and  even  if  she 
wished  to  read  them  in  the  privacy  of  her  room,  the  girl 
couldn't  understand  her  not  wishing  to  have  them  with 
her. 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments  idly  studying  the  super- 
scription. What  handsome  M's  the  wretch  made.  But 
the  first  E  on  this  one  was  a  bit  queer,  —  oh,  it  had 
started  to  be  an  A.  Perhaps  her  husband's  name  had 
been  Arthur  —  no,  more  likely  it  was  Aaron,  he  had  left 
such  a  pile  to  his  widow. 

3l6 


FIREWEED  217 

Returning  from  rather  a  dreary  morning  in  the  Forum, 
Miss  Melendy  learned  that  the  others,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Nancy,  were  going  back  to  the  Vatican  after 
luncheon,  as  it  would  be  closed  all  the  next  day.  Appar- 
ently, Mrs.  Manners  hadn't  expected  to  return;  but  Dr. 
Burgess  begged  her  in  the  most  flattering  way  (nauseous, 
it  seemed  to  poor  Hank)  to  give  them  the  benefit  of  her 
experience  and  her  way  of  looking  at  things,  and  laugh- 
ing prettily  at  the  idea  of  being  of  service,  she  declared 
herself  ready  to  go. 

For  herself,  the  girl  remained  with  Nancy  until  four, 
then  took  a  cab  to  the  Via  dei  due  Macelli  to  buy  some 
photographs.  Returning,  she  stopped  mechanically  be- 
fore the  letter  rack.  As  she  saw  two  more  letters  for 
Mrs.  Manners,  she  uttered  an  imprecation. 

She  noted  another  curious  E.  This,  too,  had  started 
to  be  an  A.  No,  —  good  heavens !  it  was  the  very  same 
letter !    Mrs.  Manners  had  left  it  there  all  day ! 

On  a  sudden,  she  felt  guilty.  Possibly  in  her  zeal  to 
hide  the  letters  from  Nancy,  she  had  concealed  them 
from  Mrs.  Manners,  and  so  deprived  her  of  them  all  this 
time.  Knowing  that  Miss  Lancaster  had  not  gone  out, 
she  carried  them  to  the  door.  But  Miss  Lancaster  in- 
sisted upon  her  entering. 

"  These  letters  have  been  down  there  since  morning. 
I  was  afraid  Mrs.  Manners  had  missed  them,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"  She  missed  them  on  purpose,"  said  Miss  Lancaster 
with  an  unnatural  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "  Dear  me,  I 
do  wish  she  would  read  her  letters.  They  pile  up  so. 
If  she  doesn't  begin  soon,  she'll  never  get  caught  up." 

And  taking  the  two  from  Miss  Melendy's  hand  she 
dropped  them  wearily  upon  a  pile  containing  at  least  one 
other  that  was  unopened.  The  girl  could  not  believe 
her  eyes. 


2i8  FIREWEED 

"  Why,  I  never  heard  of  anything  like  that ! "  she  ex- 
claimed rather  weakly.  "  My  goodness !  when  there's 
always  a  perfect  stampede  for  letters  from  home!  I 
could  almost  shed  a  tear  over  a  printed  bond  advertise- 
ment." 

"  It  is  queer."  Miss  Lancaster  stretched  her  long  neck 
and  adjusted  the  pile  neatly.  "  I'm  crazy  over  them,  too, 
myself.  But  Erica  never  is  like  other  people.  And  be- 
sides, this  particular  correspondent,  as  I  happen  to  know, 
bores  her  terribly.     Oh,  Miss  Melendy,  don't  go,  please." 

But  Hank  made  an  hasty  retreat.  Rushing  to  her  room 
to  fetch  her  hat,  she  hurried  forth  again. 

Recalling,  in  her  need  of  retirement  and  quiet,  the  little 
church  at  the  corner  where  the  Via  S.  Susanna  descends 
from  the  Piazza  Barberini,  she  made  her  way  thither. 
Pushing  the  curtain,  she  entered  the  dark  interior. 

Confused  and  perplexed  though  she  was,  as  Miss  Me- 
lendy seated  herself,  she  was  whimsically  inquiring 
whither  this  growing  habit  of  requiring  a  church  to  do 
her  meditating  in  was  to  lead  her.  In  America  there 
wasn't  a  church  on  every  corner,  and  when  there  was,  it 
was  shut  and  locked  fast  excepting  on  Sundays.  And 
anyhow,  so  far  as  her  experience  went,  people  at  home 
were  too  self-conscious  to  enter  churches  when  there 
wasn't  a  service  scheduled. 

But  that,  she  reminded  herself,  was  neither  here  nor 
there.  At  this  hour  to-day  she  had  only  to  ponder  upon 
this  new  development  in  the  case  of  Nancy  Cotton.  Mrs. 
Manners  did  not,  after  all,  it  seemed,  care  for  the  man 
whom  Nancy  loved,  —  his  letters  bored  her.  Apparently 
he  still  cared  for  her  —  or  wanted  her  money.  And  yet, 
since  she  didn't  love  him,  villain  though  he  might  be, 
there  was  hope  for  Nancy ! 

Hank  wondered  why  her  heart  did  not  leap  at  the  real- 
ization.    Staring  dumbly  at  the  dimly  lighted  altar,  she 


FIREWEED  219 

seemed  to  herself  to  be  more  stony,  and  far  more  unfeel- 
ing than  the  mild  face  that  beamed  down  from  above 
it.  She  bowed  her  head  and  tried  to  murmur  some 
word  of  thanksgiving,  but  none  came.  Then  she  ut- 
tered a  little  silent  prayer  for  pardon,  for  what  she  knew 
not. 

Startled  by  a  sigh,  she  raised  her  head.  But  the  sigh 
was  her  own.  And  giving  over,  perforce,  for  the  mo- 
ment, any  direction  of  her  thoughts,  she  became  a  prey 
to  wild  speculations. 

How  had  this  come  about?  Why  had  Mrs.  Manners 
suddenly  tired  of  her  lover?  She  was,  indeed,  with  her 
shallow,  flippant  brilliancy,  of  the  fickle  type;  but  this 
had  been  an  affair  of  years.  Had  some  other,  greater 
interest  made  this  of  lesser  import  and  finally  driven  it 
out?  Ah!  now  Hank  understood  why  she  didn't  feel 
any  exultation  over  her  discovery.  It  was  because  there 
was  in  her  own  heart  something  desperate  and  ugly  to 
struggle  against  and  conquer  before  she  should  be  decently 
human  again. 

Oh,  if  only  she  could  understand  that  scene  at  Assisi ! 
Were  Mrs.  Manners's  tears  genuine?  They  seemed  so, 
and  yet,  —  somehow,  she  must  have  known  that  Mr. 
Cotton  was  near.  Her  crossing  herself  before  he  came 
in  must  have  been  simply  by  way  of  practise,  though  for 
a  person  so  graceful  as  the  Lady  Erica  she  had  rather 
bungled  the  business.  But  it  had  been  for  practise,  and 
it  was  very  like  her. 

On  a  sudden,  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet  and  flung 
herself  from  the  church  as  if  she  had  been  expelled  by  a 
whirlwind.  Hank  was  far  from  being  a  saint;  but  it 
had  suddenly  struck  her  that  her  thoughts  were  ill-suited 
to  a  place  that  was  truly  hallowed  and  made  sacred  by 
the  suffering,  the  sorrow,  the  repentance  and  the  faith  of 
ages;  that  she  had  no  right  to  allow  her  thoughts  to 


220  FIREWEED 

wander  to  this  secondary,  personal  problem  wherein  she 
feared  she  really  wished  to  see  things  in  their  worst, 
rather  than  their  brightest  aspect. 

Without,  almost  at  the  very  steps,  she  encountered 
Cotton.  Though  she  paled,  her  heart  leaped  secretly. 
She  had  had  no  word  with  him  for  days,  and  the  un- 
feigned pleasure  that  beamed  from  his  worn  face  was  very 
grateful. 

As  they  turned  together  into  S.  Susanna,  he  explained 
that  he  had  come  from  the  American  Embassy  just 
around  the  corner. 

"  What  do  you  think.  Miss  Melendy,  I've  been  reading 
home  newspapers,"  he  said  with  an  eager  note  in  his 
voice.  "  They  have  all  the  principal  ones  in  the  long 
room  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  Of  course  the  very 
latest  is  upwards  of  a  fortnight  behind  time,  but  —  " 

"  Don't  you  care,"  she  said  as  he  paused  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders  expressively. 

"  Just  so,"  he  smiled,  "  and  I  found  four  men,  three 
from  New  York  and  one  from  Chicago,  and  we  fell  to 
discussing  politics,  —  the  way  things  were  going  on  a 
month  ago,  you  know.  I  reckon  we  talked  for  an  hour, 
and  —  well.  Miss  Melendy,  I  feel  almost  like  a  boy  again." 

"  It  means  —  all  that  to  you  ?  "  the  girl  inquired  wist- 
fully. 

Cotton  smiled  comically,  and  pursed  his  lips  in  rueful 
fashion. 

"  I  reckon  it  does,  Miss  Melendy,  I  reckon  it  does," 
he  confessed  as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  his  weakness. 
"  Traveling  and  sight-seeing  are  right  pleasant,  and  I 
don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  live  without  the  Burgesses 
again.  And  yet  —  won't  it  seem  good  to  be  home  again 
and  in  the  midst  of  things,  knowing  what's  doing  in  Con- 
gress and  being  able  to  keep  an  eye  on  Mexico?  Trav- 
elers are  like  those  poor  creatures  Mrs.  Manners  was 


FIREWEED  221 

speaking  of  the  other  day,  belonging  neither  in  heaven  nor 
in  hell,  wandering  about  in  some  neutral  mid-space." 

The  irrelevant  thought  flashed  through  Miss  Melendy's 
mind  that  Mrs.  Manners,  whom  he  considered  one  of  the 
Burgesses,  lived  near  him  at  home  and  he  wouldn't  lose 
her.  But  she  didn't  allow  herself  to  dwell  upon  it.  This 
wee  bit  of  time  was  too  precious  to  waste  that  way. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  here  you  have  been  fooling  us  all 
this  time !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Everyone  thinks  you  the 
most  enthusiastic  traveler  that  ever  happened." 

He  laughed.  "  So  I  am,  Miss  Melendy,  honest  Injun. 
After  all,  this  is  the  first  time  since  we  landed,  excepting 
when  I  have  been  more  worried  about  Nanny  than  usual, 
that  I  haven't  been  altogether  content  to  be  over  here. 
For  instance,  these  three  days  in  Rome  have  been  —  why 
I  feel  more  than  ever  before  that  a  man's  life  is  incom- 
plete until  he  h?is  seen  the  Roman  Forum.  It  was  only 
that  something  in  those  home  papers — the  mere  look  of 
the  familiar  type  —  sort  of  stole  over  me  and  made  me 
hungry  for  my  own  country.  I  haven't  thought  of  it 
before,  but  as  I  glanced  at  a  New  York  paper,  it  came 
over  me  that  it  would  be  mighty  agreeable  to  be  strolling 
down  Broadway  —  even  to  be  shoved  and  jostled  along 
when  you  wanted  to  take  your  time  —  but  understanding 
every  solitary  word  that  was  said  anywhere  about  you, 
and  being  able  to  read  all  the  signs.  To  my  mind,  there's 
nothing  like  the  English  language,  unless,  perhaps, 
Cicero's  orations,  and  I  think  Burke's  are  finer  and  Glad- 
stone's not  so  far  below." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  exchanging  it  for  this  blooming 
baby-talk  business  myself,"  she  admitted,  "And  I  con- 
fess I  should  like  a  good  cup  of  coflFee.  Oh,  yes,  and  I 
should  like  to  know  how  the  league  games  are  going.  I 
don't  suppose  you  happened  to  notice  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Melendy,  I  pitched  all  one  season  when 


222  FIREWEED 

I  was  studying  law,  for  the  Cumberland  Stars;  and  for 
years  afterwards  when  they  got  in  a  tight  place  they  called 
on  me  to  help  'em  out.  There  isn't  a  place  on  the  diamond 
I  haven't  held  at  one  time  or  another." 

Reaching  the  old  wall,  they  paused  a  moment  before 
going  under  the  arch.     Cotton  smiled  reminiscently. 

"  Some  used  to  say  it  was  worth  the  price  of  admission 
to  see  Cale  Cotton  make  a  home  run,"  he  said,  "  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  though  you  might  not  suspect  it,  my  legs 
are  rather  long." 

Again,  at  the  steps  of  the  pension,  they  stopped.  Cot- 
ton drew  out  his  familiar  little  red  book,  opened  it  and 
handed  it  to  Miss  Melendy.  To  her  surprise,  there, 
copied  neatly  upon  opposite  pages,  were  the  scores,  com- 
plete up  to  less  than  three  weeks  earlier,  of  the  two  great 
baseball  leagues.     She  scanned  them  eagerly. 

He  took  the  cap  from  his  stylographic  pen. 

"  Let  me  have  your  note-book,  Miss  Melendy,"  he  said, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

Hank  was  filled  with  chagrin  in  having  to  confess  that 
none  of  her  numerous  pockets  held  any  such  thing.  As 
she  went  in  and  on  to  her  room,  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  would  go  out  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  and  get 
one. 

Less  than  an  hour  later  when  she  went  down  to  dinner, 
however,  she  found  at  her  place  at  the  table  occupied  by 
the  party  a  charming  little  blank  book  bound  in  tooled 
Florentine  leather.  Drawing  out  the  little  pencil  that 
closed  it,  she  saw  her  name  on  the  fly-leaf,  with  Rome 
and  the  date.  As  she  was  the  first  one  down,  it  didn't 
matter  that  her  eyes  grew  suddenly  dim  when  she  saw 
that  he  had  written  not  Miss  nor  Hannah  but  Hank. 
And  on  the  first  page  he  had  copied,  still  more  beautifully 
than  in  his  own,  the  baseball  record! 

As  Mrs.  Miles  and  Miss  Williams  entered  the  dining 


FIREWEED  223 

room,  she  slipped  it  into  her  pocket.  Nancy  came  in 
alone,  saying  that  her  father  would  be  late.  She  told 
Hank,  who  always  sat  next  her  at  table,  that  he  had  sud- 
denly rushed  out  just  after  he  had  come  in  and  had  only 
returned  a  few  minutes  ago. 

When  he  came  down  ten  minutes  later,  his  face  red 
and  shining  from  the  friction  of  the  towel,  a  sort  of  tri- 
umphant content  conquered  its  weariness.  Hank  caught 
him  on  the  way  out. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  you  are  an  angel,  sure,  and  not  of 
the  Perugino  type,  either.  You're  the  very  best  sort  of 
all,  a  true  red-white-and-blue  one,  and  I  shall  keep  my 
precious  little  book  for  ever  and  ever,  amen !  " 

He  smiled.  "  Might  I  give  you  a  memorandum  to  put 
in  it,  Miss  Melendy  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  upon  her 
with  so  much  friendliness  in  his  eyes  that  the  girl  had 
ado  to  control  her  voice. 

"  Sure,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she  replied  rather  gruffly. 

"Just  so.  Well,  under  date  of  Wednesday,  put  down 
that  we're  all  going  out  along  the  Appian  Way  to  the 
Catacombs,  leaving  the  pension  at  two,  and  that  we'll  find 
you  in  the  lobby  at  one  fifty-five.  And  for  the  next 
morning,  put  down  that  it's  Hadrian's  Villa,  and  we  go 
at  ten.  Now  Miss  Melendy,  may  I  please  tell  the  doctor 
to  set  you  down  for  both  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  said  dum  and  then  you  mentioned  two 
items,  which  would  be  da  or  dums,  so  the  bond  doesn't 
hold,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  decline,"  she  said,  trying 
to  speak  lightly. 

Of  course  Caleb  Cotton  understood  why  Miss  Melendy 
had  suddenly  ceased  to  participate  in  the  activities  of  the 
party  as  a  party.  He  partly  understood  why  the  girl 
should  feel  as  she  seemed  to  feel,  and  hardly  wondered. 
Yet  he  believed  she  was  wrong.  He  couldn't  help  feeling 
that  if  she  could  once  get  thoroughly  acquainted  with 


224  FIREWEED 

Mrs.  Manners,  the  whole  question  would  be  settled.  And 
he  wished  for  the  sake  of  the  latter,  that  it  might  come 
about.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  good  for  Mrs.  Manners 
to  know  Miss  Melendy. 

"  You  know.  Miss  Melendy,  it  doesn't  seem  the  same 
party  without  you,"  he  urged.  "  There  seems  to  be  a 
great  huge  vacuum  in  our  midst  all  the  time.  And  you 
know  that's  what  whirlwinds  and  water  spouts  form 
about." 

"  My  place  is  more  than  filled,"  she  said  almost  bit- 
terly. "  And  besides,  I  think  one  gets  more  going  about 
alone  or  with  only  one  pal.  And  I  get  dead  sick  of  —  oh, 
so  much  Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses." 

The  phrase  struck  Caleb  Cotton  oddly.  He  thrust  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets. 

"  I  don't  doubt  that.  Miss  Melendy,  I  don't  doubt  it  at 
all,"  he  said  very  kindly,  realizing  how  sore  the  girl's 
heart  must  be.  "  But  somehow,  I  don't  feel  that  it's  like 
you,  even  so,  to  hold  off  from  us  like  that.  It  would  be 
more  like  you  to  disregard  all  that  and  only  consider  how 
we  want  and  need  your  presence.  Now  just  you  think  it 
over,  and  if  you  can  see  your  way  to  doing  this,  —  why, 
do." 

"  I'll  come,"  the  girl  said  quietly.  "  Dr.  Burgess  may 
put  me  down  for  both." 

And  she  fled  to  her  room  precipitately. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Miss  Melendy  spent  the  evening  alone,  sitting  by  her 
window.  At  about  the  time  she  was  retiring,  Mrs.  Man- 
ners seated  herself  by  one  of  the  windows  of  her  great 
handsome  comer  room,  remaining  here  until  after  the 
late,  waned  moon  rose  above  the  old  wall. 

Gazing  cut  through  the  dimness  upon  the  old  Roman 
wall  with  its  grass  grown  parapet.  Erica  lost  herself  in 
reverie.  Perugia,  Assisi,  Siena,  lay  behind  her,  fair 
visions  all,  with  perhaps  fairer  prospects  before,  the  only 
shadow  being  the  thought  of  the  end  of  the  summer,  the 
return  to  America. 

But  before  that  stretched  six  weeks,  —  and  what  was 
it  someone  said  about  forty  days  being  a  lifetime?  They 
were  to  remain  in  Rome  ten  days  or  a  fortnight ;  a  week 
was  to  be  divided  between  Venice  and  the  Italian  lakes, 
and  then  there  was  a  choice :  they  could  spend  two  weeks 
in  Switzerland  and  the  Rhine  cities  or  visit  Vienna,  Dres- 
den and  Berlin.  Those  who  preferred  the  latter  route 
were  to  fall  in  at  Venice  with  a  party  conducted  by  a 
sister  of  Dr.  Burgess,  rejoining  the  others  at  Boulogne 
to  take  the  boat  for  New  York. 

Like  the  greater  number  of  the  others.  Erica  had 
secretly  waited  to  learn  Cotton's  choice.  He  had  elected 
to  remain  with  Dr.  Burgess  largely  because  of  his  liking 
for  him,  but  also  because  he  wished  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
Bingen  (which  he  called  Binjen),  a  place  which  lingered 
in  the  holy-land  of  his  imagination  from  a  favorite  poem 
of  his  boyhood. 

225 


226  FIREWEED 

As  she  reflected  upon  it,  Erica  acknowledged  humbly 
that  while  Cotton  would  be  content  to  have  her  in  the 
group  with  him,  he  never  would  have  dreamed  of  making 
his  plan  contingent  upon  any  choice  of  hers.  Further- 
more, he  would  be  equally  pleased  with  a  similar  decision 
on  the  part  of  any  other  member  of  the  party  with  the 
exception  of  Miss  Lancaster,  and  much  more  so  in  the 
case  of  Mrs.  Miles  and  Miss  Melendy.  Indeed,  if  the 
latter  had  decided  to  go  by  the  Austrian  and  German 
route,  quite  likely  he  would  have  taken  Nancy  that  way, 
Binjen  or  no  Binjen. 

A  boy's  voice  sounded  faintly  in  the  distance,  singing 
the  air  of  an  old  Venetian  boat  song,  blithely  and  mu- 
sically but  with  a  curious  accent,  due  to  the  heavy  burden 
he  bore  on  his  head.  Erica  listened  entranced  until  the 
last  notes  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Now  the  old  wall  seemed  in  the  intense  quiet  to 
breathe  out  a  peace  that  was  like  a  fairer,  subtler  melody, 
a  peace  out  of  centuries  of  suffering,  an  harmony  out  of 
din  of  battle  and  pride  of  empire  quieted  for  centuries. 
Resting  her  head  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ruined  parapet.  Erica  seemed  to  see  dimly  a  pro- 
cession of  all  that  past  glory  and  pain.  All  those 
men  of  mighty  valor,  all  those  stately,  heroic  women; 
—  she  shrank  back  as  the  thought  struck  her  that  they 
had  struggled  to  the  very  end,  —  a  lifelong  struggle. 
.Why  shouldn't  they  have  had  their  share  of  peace,  of 
reward,  —  of  whatever  it  was  they  most  wanted,  in  fine  ? 
Why  should  all  the  monuments  of  this  old  city,  which 
was  in  itself  an  epitome  of  the  history  of  the  world,  be 
ruins  inscribed  with  the  legend  that  therein  lies  the  end 
of  struggle  and  endeavor? 

Turning  from  the  window  as  if  to  shut  out  the  vision, 
she  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  stared  into  the  dark- 
ness.    What  was  life  worth,  in  short,  she  asked  herself, 


FIREWEED  227 

if  the  reward  of  all  the  struggling,  all  the  sorrow  and 
pain,  came  only  at  the  end,  or  more  likely  after  the  end  — 
or  if  there  wasn't  any  reward  at  all,  only  end?  Mr.  Cot- 
ton would  say  that  the  struggle  itself  was  life.  He  would 
welcome  the  fact  that  the  road  winds  up-hill  all  the  way. 
He  would  welcome  it,  that  is  to  say,  for  himself,  and 
Erica  felt  sadly  convinced  that  he  wouldn't  hesitate  to 
prescribe  it  for  her.  But  how  about  Nancy,  his  daugh- 
ter? He  appeared  quite  willing  that  she  should  lie  on 
flowery  beds  of  ease.  And  that  beloved  Grace  who  had 
entered  into  eternal  life  eleven  years  ago?  Erica  didn't 
fancy  that  he  had  wanted  her  to  endure  hardness. 

Then,  there  was  Miss  Melendy.  How  would  he  feel 
in  regard  to  Miss  Melendy?  Erica  winced.  For  it  was 
borne  in  upon  her  that  Miss  Melendy  was  just  the  sort  of 
person  who  would  voluntarily  choose  the  hard,  yes,  even 
the  heroic  way.  She  had  known  it  and  walked  therein 
long  before  she  had  met  him.  No  wonder  he  so  liked 
her. 

The  night  was  yet  more  silent,  but  now  as  Erica  turned 
restlessly  to  the  window,  the  wall  was  bathed  in  shallow, 
silvery  light  from  a  fragment  of  moon  which  had  just 
made  its  way  above  the  horizon.  Dropping  her  head 
wearily  upon  the  wide  sill,  she  sighed  as  she  wished  her 
thoughts  weren't  always  harping  on  Miss  Melendy.  And 
she  wished  to  heaven  she  weren't  so  fatally  clear-sighted, 
that  she  didn't  see  Miss  Melendy's  virtues  so  plainly. 
For,  deep  down  in  her  heart,  she  suspected  that  she  hated 
the  girl,  —  hated  her  not  for  any  hateful  qualities,  but 
because  she  hadn't  any. 

The  sound  of  a  light  step  below  the  window  distracted 
her  attention.  She  looked  out  just  in  time  to  see  a  tall, 
lank  figure  disappearing  through  the  arch.  It  was  Cot- 
ton, of  course,  and  of  course  he  was  off  to  see  the  Colos- 
seum by  the  romantic  light  of  this  late  moon. 


228  FIREWEED 

A  wild,  futile  desire  took  possession  of  her.  She  felt 
as  if  she  must  throw  on  her  cloak  and  follow  him.  She 
would  catch  up  with  him,  tuck  her  hand  through  his  arm 
and  say:  "Take  me  along,  please,  Mr.  Cotton.  I  should 
love  above  all  else  to  see  the  Colosseum  by  the  light  of  this 
fantastic  moon  and  with  you.  I'll  be  so  quiet  you'll 
hardly  know  I'm  there.  I  won't  say  one  word,  honestly 
I  won't." 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "  I'd  do  it  in  a  minute,  if  I 
thought  he  wouldn't  mind,  but  he  would,"  she  said 
humbly.  And  she  owned  that  Miss  Melendy  could  have 
accomplished  it  more  simply  and  naturally.  And  —  he 
would  have  been  delighted  to  have  her  companionship. 

She  followed  him  nevertheless  in  imagination.  He 
would  walk,  of  course,  every  step  of  the  way.  Oh,  those 
long,  tireless  legs  of  his.  They  reminded  her  of  those 
words  in  the  Bible  about  those  who  should  run  and  not 
be  weary.  Now,  he  would  be  in  Santa  Susanna,  striding 
over  the  hill  as  usual  as  if  it  were  up-grade  that  gives 
one  momentum.  Now  he  would  be  pausing  before  the 
fountain  in  the  piazza,  —  he  never  could  get  by  a  foun- 
tain without  stopping.  And  how  he  loved  them!  He 
would  cover  the  distance  between  that  and  the  great 
fountain  near  the  railway  station  in  a  few  strides.  An- 
other pause.  Now,  he  would  be  sauntering  slowly  down 
the  Via  Cavour,  —  it  was  his  curious  way  to  saunter 
down  hills  and  race  up.  Then,  turning  to  the  left,  he 
would  hasten  on  until  he  was  rushing  up  the  hill  whence 
he  could  look  down  upon  the  Colosseum. 

Ah,  and  now  he  would  be  among  the  ruins,  with  that, 
mystical,  romantic  fragment  of  moon,  that  smudge  of 
brightness,  shining  down  upon  them  from  the  serene 
heaven.  Erica  saw  him  sitting  there  in  the  shadow,  his 
Panama  hat  under  his  arm,  his  hair  ruffled  all  about  his 
face  from  mopping  his  brow  with  his  great  sheet-like 


FIRE  WEED  229 

pocket  handkerchief.  She  could  even  see  the  look  of 
wonder  and  solemn  joy  and  deep  protesting  sympathy 
upon  that  plain  face,  could  almost  read  therefrom  his 
visions  of  foregone  Roman  splendor,  gorgeous  spectacle, 
sinner,  saint  and  martyr. 

Presently  a  little  sob  escaped  her,  and  she  left  the 
window  abruptly.  Coming  in  contact  with  a  table  she 
knocked  off  a  book  which  fell  heavily. 

"Did  you  call,  Erica?"  Miss  Lancaster  drawled  in  a 
sleepy  tone. 

"  I  was  speaking  to  the  old  Roman  wall,"  replied  Erica, 
realizing  she  would  not  be  understood,  "  and  this  is  what 
I  was  saying: 

"  '  Shut  them  in 

With  their  glory  and  their  triumphs  and  the  rest,  — 
Love  is  best/  " 


CHAPTER   XXII 

They  had  just  visited  the  painting  of  Saint  Michael 
and  the  Dragon  in  the  little  Church  of  the  Capuchins  near 
the  American  Consulate,  and  Mrs.  Miles,  Miss  Cameron, 
Maude  Griffiths  and  Mrs.  Manners  had  returned  to  St. 
Peter's  to  see  the  copy  in  mosaic  a  second  time.  The 
latter  had  dropped  behind  the  others  as  they  entered  the 
great  cathedral. 

It  was  still  early  on  a  fair  morning.  As  Erica  stood 
idly  by  one  of  the  great  pillars,  a  young  Italian  couple 
approached  an  altar  near  by.  They  were  handsome  peas- 
ants, youth  and  maiden,  and  the  girl  mother  carried  a 
fair-haired  child  some  nine  or  ten  months  old.  Even  as 
Erica's  eyes  wandered  to  the  graceful  little  group,  the 
child  suddenly  uttered  a  little  cry  of  joy  for  the  bright 
colors,  and  stretched  out  its  little  hands  in  a  baby's  ecstasy 
of  happiness.  The  eyes  of  mother  and  father  met,  with 
something  so  lovely,  so  sacred  in  their  light  that  Erica 
averted  her  own  quickly.  As  she  dashed  the  tears  from 
them,  she  felt  that  that  had  been  the  loveliest  picture  of 
the  Holy  Family  she  had  ever  looked  upon. 

All  that  day  the  vision  haunted  her,  the  child  with  its 
outstretched  hands,  the  mother  with  the  shy  love  in  her 
dark  eyes,  and  the  protecting  affection  of  the  young 
father  guarding  both.  And  a  curious  longing  that  had 
seized  upon  her  even  as  she  had  turned  away  from  the 
sight  returned  again  and  again,  a  longing  unlike  anything 
she  had  ever  experienced.  She  wanted  to  take  those  baby 
hands  in  hers  and  cover  them  with  kisses,  —  she  wanted 

230 


FIREWEED  231 

to  hold  that  little  form  in  her  arms  and  cherish  and 

fondle  it. 

Excusing  herself,  she  had  gone  directly  back  to  the 
pension  and  had  shut  herself  into  her  room.  And  remem- 
brance of  the  child  she  had  herself  borne  came  to  her. 
But  her  child  came  back,  not  as  a  warm,  blithe  little 
creature  like  the  beautiful  baby  in  St.  Peter's,  but  rather 
as  a  fact,  a  hard,  cruel  fact.  For  Erica  could  not  really 
remember  her  baby,  could  not  recall  how  it  had  looked. 
With  all  her  striving,  no  image  came  to  her,  —  only  a 
dim  sense  of  a  wailing,  sickly  little  thing  in  a  far  away 
chamber  that  wasn't  even  called  a  nursery.  She  had  vis- 
ited it,  of  course,  but  she  hadn't  really  looked  at  it  squarely 
and  unflinchingly.  And  now  she  could  see  only  a  crib 
and  blankets,  a  trained  nurse  and  a  little  nursemaid. 
Suppose  there  were  really  a  heaven  such  as  Mr.  Cotton 
so  naively  believed  in  and  spoke  of?  If  she  should  find 
her  baby  there,  she  wouldn't  know  it. 

It  was,  of  course,  the  love  between  this  father  and 
mother  that  made  the  difference.  Perhaps  if  the  situation 
had  been  otherwise  in  her  case,  she  might  have  loved  her 
child.  Ah!  she  didn't  know.  Only,  —  she  could  love  it 
now,  —  she  could  almost  love  that  little  image  of  the 
Christ-child  she  had  seen  just  now,  and  her  heart  began 
to  yearn  strangely  for  her  own.  And  looking  back  to 
last  night,  she  wondered  whether  that  conclusion,  "  Love 
is  best "  belonged  most  truly  of  all  to  this  group  with  the 
happy  innocent  child  in  their  midst. 

Her  pensiveness  deepened  into  sadness  and  into  de- 
pression. Then,  as  she  sat  in  her  room  with  idle  hands 
in  her  lap,  suddenly  there  came  upon  her  in  the  midst  of 
her  melancholy,  like  a  flash  from  the  heavens,  a  blow 
from  the  past.  There  was  probably  no  other  word  spoken 
during  the  course  of  the  trial  that  had  not  come  back  to 
Erica  Manners  at  one  time  or  another  except  this;  for 


232  FIREWEED 

some  reason,  this  had,  up  to  this  moment,  utterly  escaped 
her.  Now,  out  of  the  darkness  and  blankness,  she  heard 
Cotton's  scathing  denunciation  of  her  as  a  recreant 
mother.  It  fell  like  a  whip  of  scorpions  and  she  cowered 
and  writhed  under  it.  Stokes  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, Erica  had  suffered  during  the  course  of  that 
trial;  but  she  had  suffered  nothing  that  could  be  com- 
pared with  the  agony  that  overwhelmed  her  now,  the 
tempest  that  had  broken  upon  true  halcyon  weather. 

She  did  not  go  down  for  lunch.  And  when  the  hour 
came  at  which  they  were  to  leave  the  pension  for  the 
Catacombs,  she  felt  really  ill.  But  it  came  to  her  that 
she  couldn't  endure  this  longer :  she  must  get  out  of  her- 
self ;  she  must  have  the  relief  of  mingling  with  the  others. 
She  left  her  room  and  slipped  into  the  place  assigned  her 
at  the  last  moment. 

Wherefore  her  white  face  caused  no  comment.  Her 
companions  in  the  carriage.  Miss  Cameron,  Miss  Grif- 
fiths and  Miss  Williams,  attributed  it  to  the  heat,  which 
was  intense.  The  dust,  too,  was  so  thick  that  Dr.  Bur- 
gess wished  he  had  arranged  to  go  by  motor  cars ;  and  in 
this  carriage,  at  any  rate,  they  were  very  quiet.  Erica 
realized  vaguely  that  Miss  Melendy  rode  with  the  Cot- 
tons, but  did  not  realize  that  this  was  the  first  time  in 
weeks  the  girl  had  taken  part  in  any  outing  of  the  whole 
party.  As  they  halted  before  the  tomb  of  Cecelia  Me- 
teHa,  she  heard  Mary  Little's  high,  ringing  laugh,  but  it 
was  only  through  the  amused  comment  of  Miss  Cameron 
and  Miss  Griffiths  that  her  attention  was  directed  to  Cot- 
ton, who  had  alighted  and  stood  close  by  the  Italian  guide, 
his  little  red  book  in  hand,  jotting  down  statistics,  —  later 
she  learned  that  he  recorded  the  number  of  metres  from 
that  point  to  the  end  of  the  Appian  Way  at  Brindisi. 

Not  long  after,  they  again  came  to  a  stop;  and  now 
everyone  excepting  herself  and  Nancy  Cotton  alighted 


FIREWEED  233 

and  entered  an  open  field  at  the  left  for  a  celebrated  view 
of  the  Campagna  and  aqueducts.  After  the  dust  had 
settled,  a  fresh,  pungently  sweet  odor  rose  from  beneath 
their  feet  and  penetrated  to  the  highway.  As  they 
trooped  back  to  the  carriages,  everyone  had  a  pleasant 
word  for  Mrs.  Manners,  and  Cotton,  coming  last,  gave 
her  half  the  greens  he  had  gathered  for  Nancy.  It  was 
Roman  thyme,  more  pungent  and  less  delicate  than  the 
English  thyme,  but  very  grateful  after  the  heat  and  dust. 
Moreover,  it  meant  something  further  to  Erica.  She  had 
lost  her  sense  of  time  and  place.  It  was  only  a  few  hours 
since  that  she  had  heard  him  brand  her  womanhood  in 
terms  so  scathing  that  she  felt  she  could  never  meet  his 
eyes  again,  never  look  into  his  face.  Wherefore  it 
seemed  at  the  moment  as  if  this  offering,  this  old-fash- 
ioned, wholesome,  bitter-sweet  herb,  were  a  token  of  his 
charity  if  not  of  forgiveness,  an  earnest  that  he  was  big 
enough  and  good  enough  to  feel  that  she  could  outlive 
even  this  great  wrong. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Catacombs,  a  brown-robed, 
bearded  brother  was  waiting  to  conduct  them  into  the 
subterranean.  Leaving  Nancy  in  a  little  arbor,  the  oth- 
ers. Erica  included,  followed  after  him.  Descending  the 
stone  stair,  their  light  chatter  ceased.  Even  Mary  Little 
became  silent  and  serious  as  they  stood  in  the  antecham- 
ber and  received  their  lighted  candles. 

They  had  provided  themselves  with  heavy  wraps,  but 
after  the  extreme  heat  the  chill  of  the  place  was  so  intense 
as  to  be  depressing,  almost  appalling.  Erica,  who  had 
eaten  nothing  since  morning,  and  who  had  suffered  poign- 
antly for  hours,  felt  it  more  keenly  than  the  others.  She 
dropped  behind  a  little,  absently  aware  of  Cotton,  who 
had  never  seemed  so  thin  and  tall  as  now,  towering  high 
above  the  fat  monk,  taper  in  hand,  his  head  seeming  to 
touch  the  top  of  the  cavernous  passage. 


234  FIREWEED 

The  guide,  who  spoke  English  fluently,  though  with  a 
strong  and  often  comical  Italian  accent,  and  who  had  not 
once  paused  in  his  continual  recital,  halted  the  party  and 
began  to  tell  the  story  of  Saint  Cecelia;  and  Erica  stood 
at  the  edge  of  the  group  gazing  at  the  beautiful,  touching 
effigy  of  the  high-born  martyr.  The  brother  related  the 
tale  with  fire  and  with  strong,  almost  brutal  realism,  and 
Erica  like  the  others  hung  upon  his  words.  But  when 
she  saw  tears  spilling  from  Mary  Little's  blue  eyes  upon 
her  rosy  cheeks,  a  sudden  f  aintness  came  over  her. 

Moving  out  of  the  sound  of  his  voice,  or  at  such  dis- 
tance that  she  could  not  distinguish  his  words,  she  tried 
to  collect  herself.  She  extinguished  her  candle,  for  she 
trembled  so  that  she  feared  to  set  fire  to  her  clothing, 
and  leaned  against  the  wall.  But  she  shrank  from 
its  chill  dampness,  and  remembering  that  it  was  lined 
with  sepulchres,  stood  away  in  a  shuddering  panic  of 
dread. 

The  next  thing  she  was  aware  of  was  that  the  brother's 
voice  had  ceased.  Peering  ahead,  she  saw  that  they  had 
all  gone  on.  Their  candles  wavered  at  a  distance  where 
they  had  apparently  stopped  again.  Erica  said  to  herself 
she  must  join  them  the  instant  they  moved  on. 

But  somehow,  she  seemed  to  have  lost  consciousness 
for  a  few  seconds,  for  when  she  looked  again,  the  candles 
had  disappeared.  Rousing  herself  with  an  effort,  she 
followed  what  she  believed  to  be  the  direction  they  must 
have  taken,  turning  sharply  to  the  right.  After  a  few 
steps,  however,  she  heard  voices  in  exactly  the  opposite 
direction,  and  retracing  her  steps,  or  attempting  so  to  do, 
entered  another  passage.  Groping  along  for  some  dis- 
tance without  hearing  or  seeing  anything,  she  turned  back 
and  tried  again.  Now  she  seemed  somehow  to  find  her- 
self upon  a  lower  level,  threading  a  passage  under  the  one 
through  which  they  had  started.     She  turned  again  and 


FIREWEED  235 

yet  again.  And  now,  she  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction. 
As  the  awful  certainty  that  she  was  lost  —  lost  in  the 
Catacombs  —  came  over  her,  a  panic  of  fear  paralyzed 
her. 

Crouching  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  conscious  of 
sepulchres  all  about  her,  she  stood  shudderingly  still, 
fearing  to  reach  out  an  hand  lest  she  encounter  some- 
thing. The  darkness  and  silence  were  fearful,  the  chill, 
benumbing.  It  came  to  her  that  one  might  go  on  in  the 
so-called  streets  of  the  Catacombs  for  miles  and  miles  and 
miles  —  was  it  not  hundreds  of  miles  in  all  that  they 
amounted  to?  Mr.  Cotton  would  have  it  recorded  in  his 
little  red  book  —  the  exact  number  of  miles.  But  even  if 
the  sum  total  were  only  a  dozen,  there  would  be  no  hope 
for  her.  Two  miles  would  be  fatal,  indeed.  She  was 
somehow  in  a  labyrinth  and  would  only  walk  round  and 
round  till  she  dropped  and  died. 

Oh,  if  only  she  needn't  drop  until  she  died !  She  would 
be  dead  when  they  found  her,  perhaps  to-morrow,  perhaps 
in  a  week.  They  wouldn't  discover  that  she  was  missing 
until  to-night.  Miss  Cameron  would  think  she  had  re- 
turned in  another  carriage  and  only  when  Libby  Lancas- 
ter asked  for  her,  would  it  all  come  out.  It  would  be 
very  late  by  that  time,  so  that  it  would  be  morning  before 
any  search  could  be  made,  and  then  there  would  be  all 
those  miles  and  miles !  And  meanwhile  —  Erica  sickened 
with  horror  —  she  would  be  alone  in  this  place  of  tombs. 

It  came  to  her  that  perchance  she  was  alone  now.  She 
had  no  idea  how  much  time  had  elapsed  —  an  hour  may 
have  passed  already,  and  her  moment  of  unconsciousness 
might  really  have  been  an  hour.  She  wasn't  at  all  sure 
that  those  were  voices  she  had  heard.  It  might  have  been 
only  murmurs  in  her  ears. 

Of  course !  They  were  gone  already !  They  were  even 
now  driving  back  over  the  Appian  Way  in  the  sweet, 


236  FIREWEED 

warm  sunshine,  among  grass  and  trees  and  living  human 
creatures,  and  she  was  alone  among  the  dead ! 

And  what  a  dread  loneliness  was  that !  Even  a  child's 
company  would  mean  much.  And  again  the  image  of 
the  morning  came  back  to  Erica,  and  the  thought  of  her 
own  child.  And  now  it  came  to  her  mind  that  had  that 
child  lived,  it  would  be  six  years  old,  —  nearly  seven  —  a 
little  girl  of  seven !  Ah !  suppose  she  had  lived  and  were 
here  now?  How  different  it  would  be.  She  would  not 
have  given  over  thus.  She  would  have  taken  the  little 
thing's  hand  in  hers ;  for  her  sake,  she  would  have  kept 
up  her  courage,  talking  cheerfully  lest  she  be  frightened. 
They  never  would  have  remained  standing  still  in  this 
dreary,  huddled  fashion ;  they  would  have  gone  one  way 
and  then  another,  and  they  would  have  turned  and  twisted 
and  kept  on.  They  would  have  shouted,  alone  and  in 
unison.  They  would  have  persisted  for  any  length  of 
time,  each  for  the  sake  of  the  other.  For,  oh,  a  little 
girl  of  seven  may  be  very  thoughtful  and  mature. 

She  tried  to  shout  now,  but  it  was  like  the  effort  in  a 
nightmare.  She  scarcely  made  a  sound.  Neither  could 
she  stand  longer  without  support.  Groping  for  the  side 
of  the  passage,  she  leaned  fearfully  against  it. 

Closing  her  eyes,  she  opened  them  immediately,  for  that 
seemed  like  death.  Suddenly  her  thoughts  turned  to 
Caleb  Cotton.  He  would  be  sorry  when  they  found  her 
dead.  It  would  be  like  him,  simple  and  noble  as  he  was, 
to  forget  all  the  past  and  be  sorry  just  as  if  they  had 
been  old  friends.  And  she  clasped  her  hands,  thinking 
feverishly  that  he  would  like  it  if  they  found  her  so. 
Then,  lest  there  be  something  dishonest  in  that  pos- 
ture, she  endeavored  to  justify  it  by  murmuring  a 
prayer. 

The  only  words  that  came  to  her  seemed  far  away  and 
comfortless :  "  Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  who  hast 


FIREWEED  237 

brought  us  safely  to  the  beginning  of  this  day,  defend  us 
in  the  same  with  thy  mighty  power."  But  she  could  think 
of  no  other,  and  straining  her  clasped  hands  against  her 
breast,  she  repeated  these  over  and  over.  And  presently 
they  seemed  to  grow  familiar,  and  so  to  rise  from  her 
heart  as  if  they  were  not  cried  to  deaf  ears. 

"  Defend  us  in  the  same  with  thy  mighty  power ! " 
On  a  sudden  a  far-away  sound  smote  the  stillness.  Erica 
stood  erect,  breathless,  waiting  for  a  repetition.  Again, 
she  heard  it,  but,  alas !  more  faintly.  It  must  have  been 
the  last  living  being  leaving  the  place !  She  could  not  be 
heard,  even  if  she  shouted,  and  she  could  not  utter  a 
sound. 

She  strove  vainly.  Only  a  faint  moan,  which  fright- 
ened herself,  escaped  her.  But  that  moan  was  answered 
by  a  cry,  a  cheerful  shout  in  a  well-known,  yes,  a  beloved 
voice.  And  almost  immediately  a  flicker  of  light  was 
visible  which  straightway  became  a  candle,  and  she  saw 
the  tall,  stooping  figure  of  Cotton  advancing  towards  her, 
outlined  against  that  of  the  stout  brown  priest.  A  mo- 
ment more,  and  she  fell  half  fainting  into  his  arms. 

They  got  her  out  and  up  into  the  daylight  —  she  was 
near  the  entrance,  as  it  happened  —  and  the  guide  went 
back  for  the  others.  Cotton  half  led,  half  carried  Mrs. 
Manners  to  a  little  rude  chapel  behind  the  building  that 
served  as  a  lodge  at  the  gate,  and  sat  down  with  her  at 
one  of  the  forms.  There  was  no  back  to  the  rude  bench, 
and  he  had  to  support  her  with  his  arm. 

Utterly  unstrung,  Erica  buried  her  face  in  his  shoulder 
and  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  weeping.  Cotton,  all  con- 
sternation and  pity,  but  unabashed,  treated  her  as  if  she 
had  been  Nancy,  patting  her  shoulder  and  saying  "  There, 
there !  "  in  a  soothing  way  that  went  straight  to  her  heart. 
After  the  violence  of  her  sobbing  ceased,  she  lay  passive, 
too  exhausted  to  think  or  move. 


238  FIREWEED 

A  younger  brother,  beardless  and  tall  and  thin,  entered  the 
chapel  and  seated  himself  at  a  desk  at  the  side,  facing  the 
benches.  Gravely  opening  a  large  book  with  hand  copied 
and  illuminated  musical  notation  across  its  broad  pages, 
he  began  to  intone  the  words  or  notes  in  a  determined, 
rather  unmusical  but  very  businesslike  manner,  paying  no 
attention  to  the  two  before  him,  as  if  it  were  quite  the 
usual  thing  to  confront  a  young  lady  weeping  in  the  arms 
of  a  gentleman. 

But  Erica  started  at  the  sound,  collected  herself  with 
an  effort,  raised  her  head  and  changed  her  position.  For 
a  few  moments,  she  hid  her  face  on  the  desk  before  them. 
Then  she  drew  a  fresh  handkerchief  from  the  pocket  of 
her  jacket  and  dried  her  eyes. 

Pushing  back  the  loose  hair  from  about  her  face,  she 
looked  up.  She  was  still  so  weak  that  she  could  just 
articulate. 

"  I  was  frightened  —  oh,  I  was  terribly  frightened," 
she  said,  trying  to  smile.  "  I  had  been  —  there  for  — 
hours!  I  thought  no  one  would  come  until  —  I  was 
dead." 

"  God  forbid !  "  he  said  so  simply  and  warmly  and 
kindly  that  tears  filled  her  eyes  again. 

"  There  are  —  miles  and  miles  in  the  Catacombs,  aren't 
there  ?  "  she  asked  in  tones  of  horror,  going  yet  paler. 

He  drew  out  his  little  red  book. 

"  Five  hundred  and  forty-five  miles,  if  you  follow  all 
the  passages,"  he  stated. 

Erica  laughed  out  suddenly.  At  the  sweet  silvery 
sound,  the  young  brother,  who  had  persevered  method- 
ically up  to  this  moment,  lost  his  place  and  had  to  go  back 
half  a  page.  But  none  marked  the  shade  of  disapproval 
on  his  brow. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you'd  know !  "  she  cried  gaily,  though 
with  a  little  sob.     "  I  thought  of  it  in  the  midst  of  every- 


FIREWEED  239 

thing,  —  how  you'd  be  sure  to  have  it  down  in  your  little 
red  book." 

He  pursed  his  lips  in  his  droll  way. 

"  Now  you're  poking  fun  at  me,"  he  declared. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  rejoined  Erica  unsteadily.  Her  lip  quiv- 
ered. But  a  chance  sound  averted  an  outburst.  She 
caught  Mary  Little's  laugh. 

"  Good  heavens,  there  are  the  others !  "  she  cried.  "  Do 
let  me  get  back  to  my  carriage  before  any  of  them  see  me. 
I  simply  can't  be  —  pitied  or  anything  now !  " 

Cotton  led  her  to  the  carriage  at  once.  She  declared 
she  was  all  right  and  he  fetched  Nancy  and  met  the 
others. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  how  did  it  happen?  The  frate 
didn't  seem  to  understand !  "  cried  Miss  Little. 

"  I  don't  rightly  understand  myself,  Miss  Little,"  he 
returned.  "  Mrs.  Manners  didn't  feel  like  going  into  ex- 
planations. But  we  found  her  at  once,  as  the  brown 
brother  must  have  told  you.  He  seemed  to  know  just 
where  she  would  be,  you  know,  and  there  she  was.  Her 
candle  had  gone  out,  you  see." 

Miss  Melendy  hardly  saw.  As  she  passed  Mrs.  Man- 
ners on  the  way  to  her  carriage,  the  girl  glanced  keenly 
at  her.  Mrs.  Manners  looked  excited  and  really  lovely 
with  her  pink  cheeks  and  ruffled  hair.  But  she  didn't 
look  frightened  or  disturbed.  She  seemed  perfectly 
at  her  ease,  and  to  be  waiting  for  a  word  or  a  smile 
from  Cotton  as  he  should  pass  her  carriage.  Miss 
Melendy  couldn't  help  feeling  it  had  been  a  bit  of  act- 
ing. 

She  saw,  however,  when  he  joined  Nancy  and  herself, 
that  Cotton  credited  it,  and  that  he  had  been  strongly 
moved.  She  resented  the  false  appeal  to  his  chivalrous 
soul,  but  she  said  nothing  to  anyone  in  regard  to  the 
matter.    And  she  was  still  unconvinced  next  morning 


240  FIREWEED 

when  Mrs.  Manners  did  not  appear  for  the  excursion  to 
Tivoli,  but  sent  Miss  Lancaster  to  take  her  place. 

As  a  matter  of  fact.  Erica  was  really  ill  from  the  effects 
of  that  terrible  day.  She  had  had  a  wakeful,  feverish 
night,  and  looked  like  a  wan  ghost  when  she  came  from 
her  room  dressed  for  the  drive.  But  she  was  so  weak 
and  giddy  that  she  stopped  at  the  threshold  and  gave  it  up. 

She  passed  a  wretched  day  alone,  unable  to  eat,  sleep 
or  rest.  Again  and  again  she  lived  over  the  horror  of 
the  experience  in  the  Catacombs.  And  when  she  got 
away  from  that  briefly,  it  was  only  to  have  the  scene  in 
the  little  chapel  come  back  to  her  distressingly  and  with- 
out its  humorous  relief.  She  had  thrown  herself  into 
Cotton's  arms  and  wept  on  his  shoulder.  What  would  he 
think  of  her!  Now,  she  was  sure  that  she  could  never 
look  into  his  face  again ! 

The  long  day  wore  itself  out.  Miss  Lancaster  re- 
turned, got  Erica  some  tea  and  toast,  which  she  hardly 
touched,  and  then  went  down  for  her  own  dinner.  Be- 
fore she  came  back.  Cotton  came  to  the  door  to  see  how 
Mrs.  Manners  felt. 

He  found  her  very  pale  with  dark  circles  beneath  her 
eyes,  which  in  themselves  looked  darker  and  very  appeal- 
ing, somehow.  He  came  in  and  sat  down,  not  to  keep 
her  standing.  She  answered  his  kindly  inquiries  per- 
functorily, and  asked  in  turn  about  his  day.  He  com- 
mented upon  the  trip  in  his  droll  way,  and  Erica,  dis- 
tressed as  she  was,  did  not  lose  one  syllable  of  the  recital. 

Then  a  pause  fell  between  them. 

Erica  sighed  as  she  looked  up. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  I  don't  know  what  you  think  of  me 
—  because  of  —  yesterday?"  she  faltered. 

"  I  certainly  do  not  think  the  less  of  you,  Mrs.  Man- 
ners, for  being  upset  under  those  circumstances,"  he  said 
cordially.     "  You   know,    I    think    I    should   have   been 


FIREWEED  241 

scared  blue  myself,  feeling  myself  lost  underground 
among  the  tombs." 

She  shuddered  nervously. 

"  But  —  that  wasn't  all,"  she  remarked  presently.  "  To 
cry  like  that  —  leaning  on  you,  —  and  —  as  soon  as  the 
monk  came  in,  I  stopped,  you  know,  just  as  if  I  might 
have  done  so  before,  —  or  as  if  I  needn't  have  given  way 
in  the  first  place." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  not  at  all,"  he  declared  emphat- 
ically. "  The  brother  startled  you.  He  challenged  your 
attention,  and  that  moment  of  f  orgetf  ulness  restored  your 
self-control.  It  was  perfectly  natural,  the  whole  thing. 
And  now,  if  I  were  you,  I  shouldn't  dwell  upon  it  any 
more.  Can't  you  just  make  an  effort  and  put  it  all  out 
of  your  mind  ?  " 

It  wasn't  so  much  the  words  as  the  spirit  of  kindness 
Erica  felt,  —  a  quite  inexpressible  kindness,  unless  one 
understood  it  as  the  expression  of  the  absolute  unselfish- 
ness of  a  warm-hearted,  imaginative  nature.  It  touched 
Erica  Manners  deeply.  She  had  always  been  frank, 
albeit  in  an  insolent,  often  brutal  way,  with  that  frank- 
ness which  is  only  one  of  the  luxuries  of  the  wealthy 
and  powerful,  which  does  not  have  its  root  in  the  love 
of  truth,  and  which  would  resent  an  answering  frankness. 
But  she  had  never  before  been  so  straightforward,  so 
absolutely  honest  as  now. 

"  There  was  more  to  it  than  getting  lost,  Mr.  Cotton," 
she  owned,  clasping  her  hands  tightly,  "  more  even  than 
getting  faint  and  sick  from  hearing  about  Saint  Cecilia. 
It  all  began  in  the  morning  at  St.  Peter's.  A  little  child 
that  stretched  out  its  hand  to  the  bright  colors  made 
me  —  " 

She  was  deathly  white,  as  for  an  instant  she  raised  her 
eyes  desperately  to  his. 

"  It  made  me  think  of  my  own  baby,"  she  said.     "I  — 


242  FIREWEED 

wanted  her.  I  was  wretched  and  —  terribly  sorry  that 
I  —  hadn't  loved  her.  She  would  have  been  —  nearly 
seven.  It's  too  late  now,  even  to  think  of  it,  and  I  don't 
know  that  even  remorse  does  any  good  except  that  it's 
a  terrible  punishment." 

"  Not  punishment,"  he  protested,  "  not  punishment,  I 
believe,  so  much  as  consequence.  I  don't  like  to  speak 
as  if  the  good  God  dealt  in  punishments.  I  rather  feel 
that  in  his  all-wisdom,  he  ordained  that  we  should  bear 
the  responsibility  for  our  deeds,  —  yes,  even  unto  the 
second  generation.  The  whole  universe  is  so  ordered  — 
effect  follows  cause.  That  is  the  first  lesson  the  child 
learns,  and  all  his  life  he  observes  the  same  law  fulfilling 
itself  all  about  him,  in  little  as  in  large.  And  he  grad- 
ually learns  that  when  he  acts  voluntarily,  uses  his  pre- 
rogative of  free  will,  he  sets  certain  forces  in  motion 
which  the  whole  universe  works  out,  but  for  which  he 
must  answer  to  his  own  conscience." 

"  *  Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still,'  "  she  mur- 
mured sadly.  "  And  yet,"  she  added,  "  after  all,  so  many 
people  have  a  chance  to  go  back  and  undo  wrong  actions 
and  make  things  right.  And  others  —  the  thing  is  done 
inevitably ;  one  cannot  call  the  dead  back  from  the  grave." 

"  Perhaps,  as  they  tell  us,  if  we  knew  all,  we  shouldn't 
want  to.  And  that  difference,  Mrs.  Manners,  doesn't  lie 
in  the  persons,  but  in  the  nature  of  the  acts.  And  it's 
cause  bringing  forth  result  in  every  case.  If  things  were 
labeled  more  or  less  dangerous,  you  know,  remediable 
or  inevitable,  we  shouldn't  be  free  agents,  and  life 
wouldn't  be  an  arena  in  which  to  test  our  strength,  a 
struggle  to  try  our  nerves  and  sinews,  our  hearts  and 
souls,  and  to  call  forth  the  best  that's  in  us.  It  would 
be  a  silly  sort  of  kindergarten,  and  we'd  be  bored  idiots 
at  the  end." 

His  droll  dismay  at  the  vision  he  had  evoked  made 


FIREWEED  243 

Erica  smile  in  spite  of  herself,  but  she  fell  back  into 
depression. 

"  Nevertheless,  when  one  has  committed  the  inevitable 
sort  and  has  them  behind  one  —  there  isn't,  after  all,  much 
hope,"  she  said. 

"  Perhaps  there's  only  the  more,"  he  urged.  "  You 
mentioned  our  fatal  shadows,  —  well,  perhaps  standing  in 
that  fatal  shadow  is  one  condition  of  high  attainment,  — 
it  may  be  an  handicap  that  makes  the  race  the  more 
thrilling  and  the  prize  the  more  worth  while.  To  know 
the  shadow  is  there,  to  keep  it  from  touching  other  lives 
or  spoiling  our  own,  to  understand  what  darkness  such 
shadows  may  harbor,  and  so  guard  others  against  them, 
—  why,  all  that  might  seem  to  promise  that  a  man  might 
die  with  his  boots  on.     And  what  could  be  finer?" 

"  Nothing ! "  she  cried,  lifted  out  of  herself.  And 
silence  fell  between  them. 

Presently,  as  Cotton  made  a  motion  to  rise.  Erica 
spoke. 

"  I  can't  understand  how  it  is,  Mr.  Cotton,"  she  said 
seriously,  "  but  you  comfort  me  and  give  me  strength  to 
go  on,  and  yet  not  by  saying  comforting  things.  You 
make  me  want  to  do  things  that  aren't  at  all  like  me. 
You  give  me  bitter  medicine,  and  though  it  tastes  bitter, 
it  seems  better  than  sweet.  You  don't  excuse  or  con- 
done. You  point  out  hard  paths  up-hill,  and  somehow 
make  one  think  that  the  one  thing  worth  while  is  to 
climb  and  climb  and  reach  —  more  hills  to  climb !  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  it  isn't  me,  it's  just  the  lesson  life 
itself  teaches,"  he  returned,  "that  the  experience  of  all 
the  ages  has  taught.  And  it  seems  to  me  the  finest  proof 
that  man  was  created  a  little  lower  than  the  angels  that 
we  are  given  hard  lessons  to  learn  and  stiff  problems  to 
figure  out  instead  of  such  kindergarten  play  as  I  spoke 
of  just  now." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

Miss  Melendy  sat  alone  on  the  Spanish  Steps,  gazing 
idly  down  upon  the  fountain  where  three  little  gamins 
were  playing  in  the  water,  and  upon  the  throng  of  people, 
cabs  and  carts  moving  through  the  piazza.  Despite  the 
publicity  of  the  place,  she  found  real  retirement,  for 
placards  below  warned  sightseers  that  S.S.  Trinita  de' 
Monti  was  closed  during  repairs,  so  that  the  only  persons 
to  ascend  the  thoroughfare  were  those  to  whom  it  was 
truly  a  thoroughfare,  Romans  returning  home  from  work 
or  other  commerce  of  the  day.  And  the  procession  of 
these  only  added  to  the  sense  of  privacy. 

Nancy  was  not  so  well  to-day,  and  Miss  Melendy  was 
harping  on  the  old  question.  She  felt  exceedingly  remiss. 
Any  other  than  she  would  long  since,  she  felt  sure,  have 
resolved  the  tangle  that  enmeshed  Nancy's  youth  and 
happiness.  But  she,  who  had  the  end  in  her  hand,  as  it 
were,  had  something  tangible  to  work  upon,  had  made 
no  move  all  this  while.  If  Mrs.  Manners  had  ever  cared 
for  the  man  Nancy  loved,  she  had  ceased  to  do  so.  She 
was  bored  by  his  letters,  and  she  was  plainly  angling  for 
another  man.  Stokes  was,  therefore,  willy-nilly  free; 
but  he  did  not  know  it  and  neither  did  Nancy. 

Quite  likely  the  former  was  content  not  to  know  it; 
but  what  of  Nancy?  If  she  knew,  might  not  a  ray  of 
hope  lighten  the  blackness  of  her  heavy  heart?  The 
slightest  hope,  Miss  Melendy  felt,  would  mean  some- 
thing to  the  girl ;  it  might  mean  much.  And  she  needed 
help  desperately. 

Miss  Melendy  asked  herself  how  would  it  do  to  say  to 

244 


FIREWEED  245 

Nancy  that  Mrs.  Manners  allowed  her  home  letters  to 
collect  unread?  No,  Nancy  wouldn't  see  through  it; 
nothing  would  make  her  understand  unless  the  letters 
should  cease  and  she  should  be  apprised  of  the  fact. 

They  wouldn't,  however,  stop  unless  Mrs.  Manners 
ordered  them  so  to  do,  and  she  would  never  do  that. 
She  would  continue  her  desperate  flirtation  with  Mr.  Cot- 
ton; but  she  would  never  risk  losing  the  other,  the  sure 
lover.  She  wanted  him  to  fall  back  upon  in  case  — 
But  no,  there  was  no  question  but  that  failure  confronted 
the  lady  in  that  direction.  Nevertheless,  in  that  she  had 
in  secret  actually  thrown  over  her  former  lover  in  pur- 
suit of  Mr.  Cotton,  she  ought  to  be  compelled  to  do  so 
openly. 

A  momentary  lull  had  fallen  upon  the  Spanish  Steps. 
Hank  looked  about  her  to  find  herself  alone.  The  quiet 
seemed  even  to  extend  to  the  piazza  below,  for  she  heard 
thq  fountain  playing.  She  listened  passively  for  a  little, 
then  rose  half  reluctantly.  The  water  seemed  to  call 
her. 

As  she  slowly  descended,  the  girl  was  making  excuses 
to  herself.  It  was  probably  true  that  she  would  never 
have  come  to  care  so  much  for  fountains  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Mr.  Cotton's  naive  delight  in  them.  And  yet, 
there  was  nothing  very  wicked  in  that !  If  it  was  an 
acquired  taste,  it  was  certainly  an  innocent  one.  And  if 
it  were  sentimental  —  well,  she  didn't  care  a  hang! 

Before  she  reached  the  basin,  cabs  were  rattling  again, 
and  traffic  of  all  sorts  was  noisier  than  ever.  As  Miss 
Melendy  brushed  past  two  stout  women  who  stood  in  the 
little  island  to  rest  their  tired  feet,  on  a  sudden  her  heart 
began  to  beat  violently,  —  like  a  bass  drum,  it  seemed  to 
her.  For  there  on  the  further  side,  listening  and  gazing, 
stood  Cotton, 

For  the  first  time  since  her  early  teens.  Miss  Melendy 


246  FIREWEED 

felt  herself  blushing  hotly.  But  she  was  game,  and  raised 
her  flushed  face  bravely  to  his  unsuspicious  and  beaming 
welcome.  As  a  cab  drove  perilously  near,  he  drew  her 
to  the  sidewalk. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Melendy,  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  I'm 
right  pleased  that  I  haven't  got  to  wait  till  supper  time," 
he  exclaimed.  "  Tell  me,  do  you  remember  that  as  we 
came  back  from  the  Catacombs  on  Wednesday,  as  we 
went  through  the  rather  poor  quarter  just  outside  the 
gate  in  the  wall,  we  saw  a  lad  with  a  cock  under  his 
arm?" 

"  Sure.  And  you  said  he  was  the  third  child  that  you'd 
seen,  and  you  calculated  that  it  was  a  peculiarity  of 
Roman  children  to  have  'em  as  pets.  I  suppose  you've 
seen  a  fourth  ?  " 

"  Now  don't  you  be  too  sure.  Miss  Melendy,"  he 
warned  her  rather  mysteriously.  "  However,  I  own  that 
I've  got  something  that  I  want  to  show  you  the  worst 
way.  I  suppose  you  would  hardly  feel  like  visiting  the 
Forum  now,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Sure.  There's  nothing  I'd  like  better,"  she  returned 
eagerly,  and  they  set  out  briskly  without  another  word, 
facing  the  splendid  but  startlingly  new  monument  to  Vic- 
tor Emanuel  II.  But  before  they  had  gone  far,  the  girl 
saw  that  Cotton  looked  tired,  and  announced  that  she 
would  like  to  stop  for  a  cup  of  tea.  Accordingly  she  led 
him  around  the  corner  to  a  little  shop  where  she  had 
been  before  with  Maude  Griffiths. 

To  her  great  dismay,  as  they  entered  they  encountered 
not  only  Maude  Griffiths,  but  Mrs.  Manners,  sitting  at  a 
little  table  with  cakes  and  tea.  Mrs.  Manners's  welcome 
seemed  effusive  to  Hank,  but  Mr.  Cotton  was  delighted. 
(Trust  him!)  While  Hank  took  her  tea  in  moody 
silence,  he  repeated,  with  apologies  to  her,  his  tale  of  the 
child  and  the  cock.    And  when  he  had  done,  he  asked, 


FIREWEED  247 

with  the  same  deprecating  eagerness,  if  they  would  accom- 
pany Miss  Melendy  and  himself  to  the  Forum  to  see 
something  interesting  if  he  fetched  a  carriage. 

They  were  enchanted,  and  he  secured  a  carriage.  As 
she  sat  with  him  on  the  seat  behind  the  driver,  Hank 
tried  to  convince  herself  how  much  more  attractive  Maude 
Griffiths  was  than  the  lady  Providence  had  saved  from 
being  a  grass  widow.  Maude  certainly  was  dear,  with 
her  kinky,  reddish  hair,  her  clear  complexion,  and  her 
sweet  light-blue  eyes  with  long,  curling  pink  lashes.  Her 
blue  suit,  too,  was  smart  and  becoming,  and  her  little  hat 
not  bad.  But  —  Hank  sighed  silently  —  there  you  were ! 
Any  one  might  have  tagged  her  at  first  sight  for  what  she 
was,  —  a  Michigan  school-ma'am,  not  yet  long  enough 
out  of  college  to  lose  her  girlishness.  On  the  other  hand, 
Mrs.  Manners  might  have  been  any  one,  a  duchess  or  a 
princess  —  or  even  Beatrice  Cenci.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  oval  of  her  face  very  like  that  of  the  lovely, 
melancholy  face  of  Guido's  portrait;  and  her  eyes  — 

And  of  course  her  Parisian  costume  was  truly  elegant. 
Over  a  gown  of  the  same  material,  Mrs.  Manners  wore 
a  loose  cloak  of  raw  silk  with  Chinese-looking  embroidery 
in  the  same  shade,  and  a  wonderful  buckle  at  the  throat. 
All  the  accessories  were  perfect,  and  a  modern  adapta- 
tion of  the  old  poke  bonnet  shaded  her  face  and  softened 
her  expression.  Furthermore,  it  didn't  seem  to-day  to 
need  so  much  softening  as  Miss  Melendy  would  have 
supposed. 

They  entered  the  Forum  from  the  end  nearer  the 
Colosseum.  They  were  scarcely  within  the  enclosure 
when  Mrs.  Manners,  smiling  rather  archly,  cried  out : 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Cotton,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  lead." 

"  Oh,  you  can  lead,  Mrs.  Manners,  but  how  do  you 
know  where  I'm  taking  you  all  ?  "  he  rejoined  indulgently, 
as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 


248  FIREWEED 

"  Suppose  I  should  guess  ?  "  she  retorted  with  a  toss 
of  her  head. 

"  Very  well,  guess  away.  But  mind,  if  you  guess 
wrong,  the  penalty  will  be  to  sing  a  song  to  the  assembled 
Burgesses  this  evening  on  the  roof  garden,"  he  declared. 

Shrugging  her  shoulders,  Mrs.  Manners  waved  her 
hand  with  the  gesture  of  the  Italian  guide.  Turning  to 
the  left,  she  led  the  three  towards  the  ruins  of  the 
Library  of  Augustus.  She  paused  before  a  grating  in  a 
vaulted  recess  which  had  apparently  been  part  of  the 
atrium,  beyond  which  was  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
fragments  of  old  sculpture.  The  most  nearly  perfect 
piece  was  an  oblong  slab,  like  a  stele,  bearing  a  group  in 
high  relief :  —  a  tall  Roman  in  a  classically  folded  toga, 
with  a  fine,  grave  face,  with  a  child  by  his  side,  a  slender 
little  boy  in  a  tunic,  looking  exceedingly  small  in  contrast 
with  the  tall  father,  and  gravely  carrying  a  chicken  tucked 
under  his  arm! 

Hank  knew  that  if  she  had  seen  it  alone  with  Cotton 
she  would  have  cried  and  disgraced  herself  forever.  As 
it  was,  she  was  deeply  moved  by  the  sight,  —  this  linking 
of  the  child  of  modem  Rome  with  the  little  lad  in  the 
tunic  walking  soberly  beside  his  father  some  nineteen 
hundred  years  ago,  his  pet  under  his  arm.  The  girl  was 
her  best  self,  as  she  seldom  could  be  in  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Manners,  as  she  looked  into  Cotton's  face  with  a 
frank,  sweet  smile  of  appreciation. 

His  face  was  a  study,  —  and  yet  not  a  difficult  one. 
Indeed,  it  was  rather  easy  to  read  the  record  thereon. 
There  was,  in  the  first  place,  large  satisfaction  in  the  fact 
itself,  and  in  the  realization  that  his  pleasure  was  shared 
by  his  friends.  Then,  too,  there  was  a  certain  amused 
gratification  because  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
outflanked;  he  seemed  to  feel  a  personal  pride  in  Mrs. 
Manners's  graceful  assumption   of   leadership   and  her 


FIREWEED  249 

clever  anticipation  of  his  surprise.  There  was  something 
almost  proprietary  about  his  attitude. 

A  great  wave  of  weariness  and  discouragement  swept 
over  Miss  Melendy.  She  felt  like  throwing  it  all  over  — 
without  knowing  definitely  what  "  it "  was.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  discovered  that  Mrs.  Manners's  hand  was  all 
trumps,  while  she  herself  held  nothing  that  could  win  a 
point.  What,  then,  was  the  sense  of  playing  it  out? 
That  she  wasn't  sure  what  the  game  was,  nor  the  stakes, 
made  no  difference.  When  Maude  Griffiths,  who  was 
always  prudent  and  especially  when  some  one  else  was 
bearing  the  expense,  suggested  that  they  ought  not  to 
keep  the  carriage  waiting  longer,  and  Hank  seconded  the 
motion,  she  was  virtually  giving  over  the  game,  —  for 
the  moment,  at  any  rate.  For  she  might  have  waited  and 
walked  with  Cotton  instead  of  returning  to  the  Corso 
with  the  others. 

Cotton  saw  them  into  the  carriage,  then  returned.  He 
knew  exactly  how  quickly  his  long  legs  would  carry  him 
back  to  the  pension  on  the  Via  Po,  for  he  had  timed 
himself  long  since,  and  drawing  out  his  great  silver  watch, 
he  calculated  just  how  long  he  might  safely  remain.  As 
he  finally  walked  on  towards  the  Tabularium,  he  was  still 
musing  upon  the  father  and  little  son.  What  had  been 
their  fate?  What  had  he  made  of  himself,  he  wondered, 
the  little  lad  with  the  finely  shaped  head  and  the  docile, 
serious,  child-like  bearing?  And  the  austere  father? 
He  hoped  he  had  lived  to  see  his  son  assume  and  wear 
the  toga.  But  he  wondered  why  he  didn't  hold  the  little 
fellow  by  the  hand.  It  seemed  to  Caleb  Cotton  that  one 
would  hardly  forego  the  privilege  of  walking  hand-in- 
hand  with  one's  little  son  while  he  was  still  a  child.  Well, 
they  were  both  dead  now,  dead  long,  long  since ;  they  were 
at  rest  from  their  labors.  And  yet  Cotton  felt  vaguely 
sorry.    The  world  was  a  fair  place  with  sunshine  and 


250  FIREWEED 

blue  sky  and  brave  men  and  tender  women,  and  life  was 
good  even  at  its  hardest.  And  here,  in  this  oldest  spot 
of  an  immemorial  city,  he  was  touched  with  gentle  melan- 
choly because  of  the  long  past  death  of  an  unknown  little 
boy  and  his  father. 

Climbing  the  steps  of  the  remains  of  the  portico  of  the 
Temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina,  Cotton  came  upon  a 
fellow  countryman  whom  he  had  seen  hereabout  upon  a 
number  of  occasions  before.  An  instructor  in  a  Western 
college,  he  understood  him  to  be,  and  knew  he  must  be  in- 
terested in  Roman  history  because  he  seemed  constantly  to 
haunt  the  Forum.  He  was  young,  rather  small  and  thin, 
shy  in  manner,  with  shabby,  very  neat  clothing,  a  thought- 
ful face,  and  eyes  that  were  very  attractive  in  spite  of 
large  spectacles. 

They  had  nodded  to  one  another  in  a  friendly  way 
since  their  second  meeting.  Now,  as  they  sat  on  the  top 
step  together,  Cotton,  fanning  himself  with  his  battered 
Panama  hat,  explained  the  subject  of  his  musing.  In  the 
young  man,  he  found  perhaps  the  most  interested  listener 
of  all. 

"  Ah,  you  have  yourself  given  the  little  fellow  a  sort  of 
immortality !  "  the  latter  exclaimed  shyly.  "  I  shall  put 
him  in  the  gallery  —  or  galaxy,  with  my  little  girl.  You 
know  Pliny's  letters,  I  suppose  ?  " 

He  had  studied  Cotton  from  afar  for  several  days, 
decided  that  he  was  an  archeologist,  and  longed  to  scrape 
acquaintance  with  him.  He  was  rather  surprised  at  the 
other's  reply. 

"  The  chap  that  died  at  Pompeii  ? "  Cotton  asked 
genially. 

"  No,  the  nephew  of  the  scientist,  —  Pliny  the  Younger. 
It  was  from  him  I  got  the  image  of  my  little  girl  as 
plainly  as  you  got  your  boy  from  the  stone." 

Cotton  begged  for  the  whole  story.    The  young  man, 


FIREWEED  251 

who  later  gave  his  name  as  John  Cawthorne,  hesitated 
only  a  few  seconds. 

"  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  philosopher  who  was  a 
friend  of  Pliny's,"  he  explained.  "  He  writes  a  letter  to 
another  friend  on  the  occasion  of  her  death.  She  was  a 
bright,  sweet,  affectionate,  companionable  little  thing,  just 
a  dozen  years  old,  when  sickness  overtook  her  and  death 
claimed  her.  Childish,  docile,  devoted  to  her  lessons  and 
little  duties,  happy  at  her  play  (in  which,  however,  Pliny 
says  she  indulged  but  sparingly!)  her  father  doted  on  the 
little  girl.  And  when  she  was  taken  away,  Pliny,  writing 
to  the  third  friend,  advises  him  not  to  rub  in,  at  this 
moment  of  utter  grief,  the  father's  own  maxims  as  to 
the  bearing  of  sorrow." 

John  Cawthorne  smiled  shyly  and  sweetly  behind  his 
great  spectacles. 

"  I'm  a  bachelor,"  he  added,  as  if  that  explained  his 
peculiar  attitude,  "  and  I  often  catch  myself  thinking  of 
that  little  girl.  It  happened  that  I  read  that  particular 
letter  of  Pliny's  first  in  the  midst  of  a  thick,  white  snow 
storm ;  and  now  whenever  snow  is  falling  softly  and 
steadily  as  it  did  then,  she  comes  back  to  me,  and  I  feel 
somehow  as  if  it  were  making  a  little  mound  over  her 
grave." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cotton  softly,  "  I  understand  just  how 
that  is." 

"  After  all,  she  had  had  a  complete,  rounded  little  life, 
with  her  simple  duties  and  pleasures,  and  her  real  sig- 
nificance in  the  life  of  her  philosopher  father  and  of  his 
friends.  I'm  sorry  for  him;  but  I  am  glad  she  died  just 
when  she  did,  before  the  world  had  laid  its  rude  hand 
upon  her.  Think  of  it,  sir,  that  baby  was  betrothed ! 
Yes,  I'm  thankful  she  died  before  they  married  her 
off." 

"  But  suppose  it  had  been  my  little  lad  that  your  little 


252  FIREWEED 

maid  was  to  marry  ?  What  then  ?  "  Cotton  whimsically 
demanded. 

"  By  George !  "  cried  the  other,  beaming  as  if  he  had 
had  a  gold  mine  pointed  out  and  offered  to  him. 

"  Of  course !  Of  course !  "  he  cried.  "  Why  shouldn't 
it  be  true !  I  wonder  —  don't  you  think,  sir,  we  might  — 
we  could  at  least  see  if  it  were  a  possibility,  by  getting 
approximate  dates.  The  little  girl  died  about  the  year 
98.     Now,  let's  see  —  " 

"  I  reckon  we'd  better  not  go  any  further,"  remon- 
strated Cotton  gently.  "  Let's  just  leave  'em  as  they  are, 
little  son  and  little  daughter,  gathered  to  their  fathers 
long,  long  ago." 

*'  Requiescant  in  pace,"  added  the  younger  softly. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

The  last  Saturday  of  July  had  been  a  happy  day  for 
Miss  Melendy ;  as  she  mused  upon  it,  it  seemed,  perhaps, 
the  happiest  day  of  all  her  one-and-twenty  years.  She 
had  passed  it,  morning  and  afternoon,  meeting  not  by 
agreement  but  by  chance,  wandering  about  the  city  which 
had  become  the  beloved  city,  in  a  desultory  fashion  with 
Caleb  Cotton.  And  every  moment  had  been  a  golden 
moment. 

Her  happiness  instinctively  sending  her  in  quest  of 
Nancy,  the  girl's  high  spirits  fell  instantaneously  to  lowest 
pitch.  She  found  Nancy  with  red  eyelids  and  deathly 
pale.  She  must  have  been  weeping  for  an  hour.  And  it 
wasn't  only  that  she  looked  so  touchingly  sad ;  she  seemed 
to  look  pinched  and  suddenly  older. 

Hank  threw  her  arms  about  her.  The  girl  explained 
with  a  touching  attempt  at  self-control,  that  she  had  been 
reading  verses,  had  come  upon  a  poem  that  made  her  cry 
and  then  hadn't  been  able  to  stop.  After  a  weak  attempt 
at  conversation.  Hank  had  to  bolt.  She  couldn't  endure 
it  at  the  moment. 

The  verses  were,  of  course,  those  Stokes  had  given  her 
as  a  parting  gift.  Probably  the  mere  sight  of  the  book 
nearly  broke  her  heart.  Hank  seemed  to  understand  how 
that  might  be,  how  the  sight  of  a  token  of  friendship 
might  nearly  kill  one  at  a  certain  moment.  And  yet,  it 
really  wasn't  so  bad  for  Nancy  as  she  believed.  And 
how  wicked  to  withhold  anything  that  might  lighten  her 
burden  even  by  a  mere  fraction.  Somehow,  Hank  must 
let  her  know  what  she  had  herself  learned. 

253 


254  FIREWEED 

She  pondered  the  matter  all  that  evening  and  all  the 
next  morning.  In  the  afternoon,  while  she  was  driving 
about  the  city  in  a  carriage  with  Nancy  and  her  father,  a 
plan,  or  at  least  a  makeshift,  came  into  her  mind.  She 
didn't  care  for  the  aspect  of  it,  but  she  had  sworn  that 
she  would  not  let  another  day  go  by,  and  there  was  no 
chance  of  anything  better  suggesting  itself.  She  said  to 
herself  she  would  put  it  through  that  evening;  then  gave 
herself  up  to  the  girl  at  her  side. 

Directly  after  dinner,  seeing  Miss  Lancaster  in  the  roof 
garden  with  Maude  Griffiths,  Miss  Melendy  resolutely 
sought  out  Mrs.  Manners  in  her  room.  What  she  was 
about  to  do  was,  she  knew,  quite  an  unprecedented  thing. 
She  knew  not  what  it  might  not  involve  her  in.  But  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do,  —  nothing  for  the  like  of  her  — 
and  she  stiffened  and  made  the  plunge. 

The  room  she  entered  for  the  first  time  was  handsome 
and  stately,  the  suite  being  the  finest  the  grand  old  palace 
aflForded.  In  dress  and  appearance,  Mrs.  Manners  suited 
it,  too.  She  looked,  indeed,  rather  sweet  and  gentle  and 
exceedingly  aristocratic  in  the  shaded  light ;  but  her  ad- 
dress was  formal  and  even  cold.  She  was  evidently  sur- 
prised at  the  visit  and  perhaps  annoyed. 

She  introduced  some  general  topic  of  conversation ;  but 
Miss  Melendy  had  no  small  talk  —  least  of  all  to-night. 
The  girl  was  white,  with  an  almost  desperate  look  in  her 
brown  eyes  that  might  have  touched  another.  Even  so, 
after  she  had  begun  to  speak  it  would  probably  have  been 
otherwise:  for  despite  her  effort  to  be  conciliatory  (per- 
haps because  of  it)  Hank  was  blunt  to  the  verge  of 
rudeness. 

"  Mrs.  Manners,  I  have  come  to  ask  something  of  you," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  suppose  I  have  any  right  to  ask  any 
such  thing.  I'm  sure  it  isn't  ladylike,  but  I  hope  it  isn't  — 
the  motive,  I  mean  —  unworthy  of  a  gentleman,  —  though 


FIREWEED  255 

like  enough  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  express  myself  so  as 
to  make  it  seem  so." 

Mrs.  Manners's  heart  seemed  to  grow  cold.  What  had 
the  strange  girl  on  her  mind?  She  knew  only  too  well 
that  Miss  Melendy  had  spent  the  past  two  days  almost 
exclusively  in  the  company  of  Cotton,  and  she  couldn't 
help  fearing  her  errand  had  to  do  with  him. 

"  Dear  me,  Miss  Melendy,  ask  away,  pray,  but  don't  be 
melodramatic,  I  beg,"  she  returned  much  more  lightly 
than  she  felt. 

Miss  Melendy  grew  yet  paler.  Lest  she  be  melodra- 
matic, she  was  very  bald,  blurting  out  what  she  had  come 
prepared  to  lead  up  to  with  such  amenity  as  she  could 
command. 

"Mrs.  Manners,  I  think  you  know  a  Mr.  Stokes?" 
she  questioned. 

"  I  do,  certainly,  Miss  Melendy,"  Erica  rejoined 
haughtily.  But  she  restrained  her  inclination  to  ask  the 
impudent  girl  what  that  was  to  her. 

"  He  is  —  a  good  friend  of  yours  ? "  Miss  Melendy 
demanded. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  say  so.  But  really.  Miss  Me- 
lendy —  " 

"  I  know,"  the  girl  broke  in  desperately,  "  but  I  can't 
help  it.     I've  just  got  to.     The  truth  is  —  " 

Hank  flushed  hotly,  then  paled.  And  now  she  had  no 
choice.  Too  confused  to  select  her  words,  she  made  haste 
to  get  the  bare,  bald  fact  from  her  lips. 

"I  know  some  one  who  is  —  well,  desperately  in  love 
with  him  —  with  Mr.  Stokes,"  she  almost  gasped.  "  She 
is  breaking  her  heart  over  him,  and  she  will  die  if  there 
isn't  some  hope,  some  chance  for  her." 

Erica  flushed  angrily.  For  a  moment  she  couldn't 
speak.  She  had  of  course  no  inkling  of  the  truth.  She 
didn't  know  Nancy  Cotton  at  all ;  she  hadn't  had  three 


2S6  FIREWEED 

words  with  her  since  that  terrible  day  in  Paris.  And 
she  would  never  have  dreamed  that  Nancy's  delicacy  had 
other  than  physical  basis.  But  suddenly  a  suggestion 
came  to  her  that  dissipated  her  anger.  She  looked  up 
quickly,  almost  eagerly,  and  fleetingly  scrutinized  the  face 
of  the  girl  before  her.  It  had  come  to  her  that  Miss 
Melendy  was  speaking  for  herself.  In  that  case  —  per- 
haps Philip  Stokes  himself  would  have  been  surprised  at 
the  lady's  willingness  to  hand  him  over  to  another. 

But  she  chose  her  words  carefully.  And  her  even 
politeness  was  in  contrast  to  Miss  Melendy's  recklessness. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me.  Miss  Melendy,  if  you 
yourself  happen  to  know  Mr.  Stokes  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Miss  Melendy,  little  knowing  what 
hopes  she  dashed.  "  I  first  heard  of  him  from  some  one 
who  is  —  in  America,"  she  faltered.  Hank  was  anxious 
above  all  things  not  to  betray  Nancy's  secret;  but  she 
hated  to  tell  the  truth  with  the  intention  to  deceive 
thereby. 

Indignation  helped  Mrs.  Manners  preserve  her  self- 
control. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  exceedingly  sorry  for  your  friend  in 
America,"  she  remarked  ironically,  "  but  I  confess  I 
hardly  understand  why  you  should  have  betrayed  such  a 
confidence  to  me,  or  what  you  wish  to  ask  or  rather  to 
demand  from  me.  Surely,  you  don't  expect  me  to  inter- 
cede with  Mr.  Stokes  for  some  stranger?" 

"  N-no,  Mrs.  Manners,  I  don't  want  that.  I  just  want 
—  oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  of  course  I  don't  know  —  but  if 
he's  nothing  to  you  —  I  mean,  if  you  don't  really  —  any- 
how, why  couldn't  you  just  —  break  with  him  —  tell  him 
you  will  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  him,  make  him 
sure  • —  " 

The  look  in  Mrs.  Manners's  eyes  compelled  her  to 
pause. 


FIREWEED  257 

"  Oh,  I  know  it's  perfectly  awful,  unpardonable  to  talk 
like  this,"  the  girl  cried,  "  but,  oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  it's 
really  the  one  chance  to  save  her  life.  Of  course,  if  you 
cared  —  " 

Hank  stopped  short,  conscious  of  egregious  bungling. 

"  Good  heavens.  Miss  Melendy,  how  do  you  know 
whether  I  care  or  not  ?  "  cried  Erica.  "  And  why  should 
you  come  here  demanding  that  I  throw  over  an  old  friend 
I  have  known  since  childhood?  I  confess,  I  never  heard 
of  such  conduct  before  in  my  life.  Can  it  be  that  you 
consider  it  honorable  ?  " 

Miss  Melendy  rose.  "  It  certainly  isn't  dishonorable, 
—  not  as  I  mean  it,"  she  retorted.  "  I'm  not  asking  you 
to  go  back  on  a  friend,  —  at  least  I  didn't  mean  to  make 
it  seem  so.  I  only  ask  you  to  step  aside  for  a  little  —  to 
let  some  one  else  have  a  chance  at  —  what  you  don't 
want." 

"  Who  is  this  some  one  ?  "  Enrica  demanded. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  that,  Mrs.  Manners,"  said  Miss 
Melendy  sadly.  "  I  can  only  ask  you  to  do  it  as  a  woman 
for  a  woman.  She's  good  and  sweet  and  —  I  would  never 
dream  of  doing  this,  only  that  it's  a  case  of  life  and 
death." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"  I  say  so." 

"  Ah !  you  expect  me  to  throw  over  an  old  friend  for 
some  stranger  on  your  word  that  she's  lovesick  ?  "  Erica 
asked  ironically.  "  The  truth  is.  Miss  Melendy,  that 
you're  too  young,  or  rather  too  immature,  to  understand 
such  things.  I  dare  say  it's  only  your  judgment  that's  at 
fault,  however.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  love  is  the  rarest 
thing  in  the  world.     Quite  likely  your  friend  has  anaemia." 

"  Anaemia  rot !  "  cried  Miss  Melendy  hotly.  "  It's 
God's  truth,  and  it's  wicked  and  cruel  for  you  to  refuse." 

Erica  laughed  scornfully. 


258  •    FIREWEED 

"  It's  very  easy  to  make  snap  judgments  of  other  peo- 
ple. Miss  Melendy,"  she  declared,  "  but  after  all  you  don't 
know  me  well  enough  to  pronounce  such  glib  sentence." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to,  Mrs.  Manners !  "  cried  the  girl 
despairingly.  "  And  I  don't  mean  to  be  hateful.  I  don't 
mean  to  demand  or  order.  Only,  I'm  so  wrought  up  I 
hardly  know  what  I  do  say.  I  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  bring  this  about." 

The  girl's  words  rang  out  impressively.  But  simul- 
taneously an  unworthy  impulse  came  to  Erica  Manners. 
It  came  so  mysteriously,  so  without  prompting  on  her  part, 
as  not  to  seem  hers,  but  a  suggestion  from  without.  And 
she  seemed  to  herself  actually  to  have  expressed  it  in 
words  before  she  realized  its  import  or  had  adopted  it  as 
her  own. 

"  Would  you,  indeed,  Miss  Melendy !  "  she  heard  her- 
self remarking.  "  Very  well,  I  will  take  you  at  your 
word.  I  really  don't  know  you  at  all,  you  know.  I  will 
do  as  you  ask  if  you,  to  prove  your  good  faith,  will  do 
an  equally  unreasonable  thing  that  I  propose.  If  I  throw 
over  my  friend  at  your  behest,  will  you  join  Miss  Bur- 
gess's party  at  Venice  and  travel  with  them  in  Ger- 
many ?  " 

Miss  Melendy  paled.  "  I  don't  understand  you,"  she 
faltered. 

Mrs.  Manners  paled,  too.  She  felt  almost  faint.  She 
was,  indeed,  almost  as  taken  aback  as  Miss  Melendy. 
But  she  repeated  the  condition  firmly. 

"  It's  plain  enough,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  You  ask 
me,  apparently  without  rhyme  or  rhythm,  to  do  some- 
thing really  momentous.  As  I  said,  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  you,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Mr.  Stokes 
for  me  to  comply  with  your  extraordinary  demand  with- 
out some  assurance  of  your  good  faith.  Therefore,  as 
a  warrant  from  you,  I  ask  the  first  thing  which  happens 


FIREWEED  259 

to  come  into  my  head,  which  may  be  absurd,  but  isn't, 
after  all,  anything  like  so  unusual  or  so  critical  as  your 
proposal  to  me." 

"  You  would  bribe  me  ? "  Miss  Melendy  inquired 
scornfully. 

"  No  such  thing.  But  tell  me,  what  right  have  you. 
Miss  Melendy,  to  come  to  me  in  this  way  and  make  this 
melodramatic,  impudent  appeal  ?  " 

Miss  Melendy  was  silent. 

"  What  right,  I  ask.  Miss  Melendy?  " 

"  No  right.     But  if  you  had  a  heart  —  " 

"  It  evidently  doesn't  mean  much  to  your  heart." 

"  It  means  all  the  world,  —  nearly." 

"  And  yet  —  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  ask  such  a  thing !  "  cried  the 
girl  hotly.  "  Haven't  you  any  sense  of  — "  But  she 
couldn't  say  decency  nor  yet  shame,  and  she  left  it  hang- 
ing. It  came  upon  her  coldly  that  she  must  not  go  out  of 
her  way  to  antagonize  Mrs.  Manners  further. 

"  I  rather  wonder  why  we  discuss  the  matter  further, 
Miss  Melendy.     Haven't  we  done  ?  "  asked  Erica  coldly. 

"  But  we  must,"  cried  Miss  Melendy  desperately. 
"  Oh,  Mrs.  Manners,  you  can't  refuse !  " 

"  I  certainly  can  and  do !  "  cried  Erica. 

Up  to  this  moment,  it  had  somehow  not  occurred  to 
Miss  Melendy  that  she  could  yield  to  Mrs.  Manners. 
Now,  first  it  struck  her  dimly.  But  she  struggled  dumbly 
against  it. 

"  Please  tell  me  why  I  should  go  off  with  this  Miss 
Burgess  whom  I've  never  seen?  What  mortal  good  would 
it  do  you  ?  "  she  demanded  with  sincerity.  But  no  sooner 
were  the  words  out  of  her  mouth,  than  she  suddenly 
understood.     She  felt  sick  and  faint. 

"  What  good  would  my  relegating  my  friend  to  limbo 
do  you  ?  "  Erica  retorted. 


26o  FIREWEED 

"  A  sort  of  good  you  wouldn't  understand,  Mrs.  Man- 
ners, if  I  should  explain  it." 

"  Miss  Melendy !  "  cried  Erica  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  The  good  of  doing  good  to  another  even  to  one's  own 
hurt,"  the  girl  said  staunchly.  But  again  that  cold  certi- 
tude took  possession  of  her  only  more  coldly  and  more 
definitely.  Her  own  words  repeated  themselves  in  her 
heart  as  a  command.  Even  to  one's  own  hurt!  But 
what  Mrs.  Manners  asked  was  outrageous,  abominable. 

She  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  she 
spoke  quietly. 

"  But  Mrs.  Manners,  you  know  I  couldn't  join  the  other 
party  now.     The  arrangements  are  closed." 

"  No,  they're  not,  or  at  least  they're  opened  up  again," 
Erica  rejoined  quickly.  And  again  the  words  seemed 
given  her.     She  was  carried  —  pushed  along  as  it  were. 

"  There's  been  a  change  lately.  They're  not  going  to 
stop  in  Austria  as  they  had  planned,  but  are  going  straight 
into  Germany  and  spend  all  the  time  there.  There's  been 
some  row  over  the  Archduke's  funeral,  I  believe,  that 
makes  them  avoid  Vienna ;  but  Miss  Lancaster  thinks  the 
new  itinerary  better." 

Miss  Melendy  scarcely  heard.  Her  utter  scorn  for  the 
woman  before  her  almost  choked  her.  Well,  there  was 
no  use  hanging  on  here  any  longer.  She  had  lost  her 
throw.     Nancy  must  endure  her  fate. 

"  Then  you  refuse,  Mrs.  Manners?  "  she  asked  wearily. 

"  I  refuse  your  petition  as  you  refuse  mine.  Miss  Me- 
lendy. I  could  hardly  be  expected  to  do  more  for  a 
stranger  whom  I  never  heard  of  until  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  ago,  than  you  would  do  for  a  friend?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  the  girl  admitted. 

She  gave  one  reluctant  look  into  the  future,  then 
shrank  back.  She  looked  back  into  the  past,  the  very 
recent  past,  the  last  two  days.     And  something  gripped 


FIREWEED  261 

her.  Thrusting  her  right  hand  deeply  into  her  pocket, 
she  raised  her  head  higher. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  she  repeated,  "  and  therefore,  I  agree, 
Mrs.  Manners,  to  what  you  demand  on  your  part.  If 
you  will  write  to  Mr,  Stokes  to-night,  I  will  see  Dr.  Bur- 
gess the  first  thing  in  the  morning  and  get  enrolled  in  his 
sister's  party.     Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 

Mrs.  Manners,  taken  aback  and  strangely  confused, 
could  only  murmur  a  just  intelligible  affirmative.  Miss 
Melendy  fled. 

The  girl  would  not  allow  herself  an  instant  to  think  it 
over.  With  her  heart  like  a  stone,  she  sought  out  Nancy. 
She  was  alone  in  her  room,  and  Hank  induced  her  to 
come  out  into  a  little  balcony  which  overhung  the  Via  Po 
and  yet  looked  upon  the  old  wall. 

It  was  almost  as  difficult  to  speak  to  Nancy  as  it  had 
been  to  approach  Mrs.  Manners.  One  topic  after  another 
Hank  introduced,  hoping  to  get  an  opening,  discussed 
feebly,  with  a  few  monosyllables  from  Nancy,  then 
dropped.  Presently  they  had  fallen  into  silence.  Nancy, 
with  the  sad  patience  that  characterized  her  when  off  her 
guard,  was  gazing  towards  the  wall  and  beyond  it.  Sud- 
denly, as  she  watched  her,  a  generous  glow  warmed 
Hank's  heart.  And  now  she  had  to  restrain  her  excite- 
ment. 

"  By  the  way,  Nancy,"  she  remarked  as  casually  as  she 
could,  "  I  heard  something  to-day  about  a  friend  of  your 
father's." 

"  Yes,  Hank,  dear  ? "  said  Nancy,  withdrawing  her 
gaze  from  the  wall. 

"  You  know  that  day  at  Fiesole,  he  spoke  of  a  Mr. 
Stokes?" 

"  Yes,  Hank,"  assented  the  girl  faintly. 

"  Well,  before  that,  I  had  heard  about  him  from  some 
one  else.     They  said  there  was  something  on  between  him 


262  FIREWEED 

and  Mrs.  Manners  and  that  they  kept  up  a  rattling  cor- 
respondence. Well,  I  have  just  heard  to-day  that  every- 
thing —  whatever  everything  may  imply  —  is  up  between 
them.  Some  one  heard  her  say  that  hereafter  there  was 
nothing  doing  between  Stokes  and  her  ladyship.  She 
said  she  was  writing  to  him  to  say  that  all  was  over,  — 
or  to  that  effect.  And  you  know,  she  meant  it.  There's 
no  doubt  of  that." 

When  she  had  first  mentioned  Stokes's  name,  Nancy 
had  clasped  her  hands.  Now  she  was  very  quiet.  But 
presently  she  drew  a  deep  breath  and  in  the  soft  light  of 
the  street  lamp  it  seined  to  Miss  Melendy  that  she  saw 
the  color  flooding  back  to  her  lips  and  cheeks.  She  began 
to  chatter  about  things  in  which  neither  of  them  took  any 
particular  interest,  keeping  it  up  as  long  as  she  could. 
Then  she  broke  the  ensuing  pause  by  declaring  that  she 
must  go  in  and  write  to  her  father. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Nancy  softly,  "  why  —  she  did  it." 

"  She  may  have  been  bored ;  he  may  have  been  bored. 
Who  knows  ?  "  said  Miss  Melendy  lightly.  "  At  any  rate, 
it's  my  private  opinion  that  it's  a  mighty  good  thing  for 
him.  If  he's  a  friend  of  your  father's,  believe  me,  he's 
too  good  for  her." 

"Of  course,"  said  Nancy,  "she  is  —  different  lately." 

"  She's  certainly  smoother,  whatever  that  may  mean. 
However  —  Nancy  Cotton,  tell  me,  are  those  tears  on 
your  damask  cheek  ?  " 

Nancy  laughed  tremblingly. 

"  I  reckon  they  are.  Hank,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arm 
about  the  other  girl. 

"But  they're  fake?" 

Again  Nancy  laughed  tremulously.  Then  she  dropped 
her  head  on  Hank's  shoulder  and  began  to  cry.  Her  thin 
form  shook  with  her  sobs. 

"  Nancy !  "cried  Hank. 


FIREWEED  263 

The  girl  raised  her  head  almost  instantly. 

"  Hank,  dear,  it's  only  because  I'm  silly.  I  don't  really 
feel  like  crying,  only  I  can't  help  it.  I  reckon  —  I'm  only 
—  crying  because  —  it's  such  a  good  world,  with  so  many 
dear  people  in  it  —  you,  Hank,  and  pappy,  and  —  almost 
every  one." 

Again  she  wept,  but  now  Hank  understood  and  it  did 
not  distress  her. 

"  Come,  now,  you'd  better  come  in  with  me,"  she  urged 
presently,  and  led  the  girl  in.  "  Do  you  feel  as  if  you 
could  sleep,  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  Hank,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  sleep  as  I  used  when 
we  were  way  back  home,"  Nancy  cried,  "  before  we  came 
East,  you  know."  And  then  she  added  shyly,  "  But  I'm 
glad  we  came  East." 

Hank,  who  rarely  kissed  any  one,  kissed  Nancy  as  she 
turned  to  leave  her. 

The  girl  clung  to  her.  "  Oh,  Hank,  we'll  have  such  a 
good  time  in  Switzerland  together ! "  she  exclaimed. 

The  older  girl  would  not  to-night  announce  the  fact 
that  she  was  going  by  the  other  route.     She  temporized. 

"  There's  Venice  first,"  she  reminded  Nancy,  "  with 
gondolas  and  Doges,  though  I  fancy  the  Dagoes  are 
thicker  than  the  Doges  these  days,  and  it  may  not  be  the 
marrying  season  for  the  Adriatic.  However,  St.  Mark's 
and  the  pigeons  are  a  continuous  performance,  I  take  it." 

Nancy  laughed  gaily,  as  if  the  wit  were  of  the  keenest 
sort.  And  with  that  sound  in  her  ears.  Hank  took  her- 
self off. 

Nancy  was  on  her  knees  beside  her  bed  when  the  door 
closed.  But  it  was  not  the  same  Nancy,  Neither  was 
it  the  same  Nancy  who  woke  next  morning  after  a  won- 
derfully refreshing  night  of  sleep  and  dreams.  It  wasn't 
that  the  girl  deluded  herself.  She  didn't  dream  that  Mrs. 
Manners's  loss  was  her  gain  in  the  same  sense.    Only, 


264  FIREWEED 

a  tremendous  burden  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart. 
She  had  a  friend  again  in  the  same  way  that  she  had  had 
before  she  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Manners.  And  she  was 
free  to  love,  and  free  to  serve. 

As  for  Miss  Melendy?  One  does  not  draw  interest 
on  demand  from  a  new  deposit ;  and  it  is  seldom  that  one 
receives  instantaneous  reward  for  sacrifice,  even  in  the 
approval  of  one's  own  conscience.  Nevertheless  the 
effect  of  the  tidings  upon  Nancy  had  been  an  instan- 
taneous and  wonderful  reward,  and  though  she  passed 
the  first  sleepless  night  of  her  life,  Miss  Melendy  was 
content. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

Long  as  Miss  Melendy's  night  was,  on  that  second  day 
of  August,  1914,  it  was  in  no  way  comparable  to  that  of 
Erica  Manners. 

For  some  time  after  the  door  closed  behind  Miss  Me- 
lendy,  Erica  sat  motionless,  in  a  sort  of  stony  contem- 
plation. She  had  ridden  herself  of  the  one  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  her  present  contentment,  —  had  effected  it 
without  premeditation,  moreover,  almost  without  effort. 
What  she  never  would  have  dreamed  of  bringing  to  pass 
deliberately,  but  what  would  mean  everything  to  her, 
had  been  as  it  were  thrust  upon  her  like  a  gift  of  fortune ; 
she  had  scarcely  more  responsibility  in  regard  to  it  than 
if  a  purse  of  gold  had  dropped  from  a  rainbow  in  the  sky 
to  her  feet. 

When  Miss  Lancaster  came  in.  Erica  spoke  to  her  in 
a  pleasant,  absent  way,  then  slipped  into  her  bedroom  and 
closed  the  door.  Donning  an  elegant  dressing  gown,  she 
seated  herself  in  a  comfortable  chair  next  the  open  case- 
ment.    But  it  wasn't  the  landscape  without  that  she  saw. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  view,  however,  —  the  vision  of 
that  fortnight  which  was  to  follow  Venice.  It  would  be 
a  change  for  every  one  to  have  Miss  Lancaster,  Mary 
Little  and  Miss  Melendy  out  of  the  way,  though  the 
others  might  not  realize  it.  She  hadn't,  of  course,  done 
it  — 

On  a  sudden  Erica  decided  that  she  would  calmly  re- 
view what  had  passed  between  herself  and  Miss  Melendy. 

She  had  promised  to  renounce  all  claim  upon  Phil 
Stokes  for  the  sake  of  some  unknown,  vulgar,  lovesick 

26s 


266  FIREWEED 

friend  of  Miss  Melendy's.  That  was  a  generous  act  on 
her  part,  even  though  at  the  moment  she  might  be  rather 
relieved  than  otherwise ;  for  Erica  knew  that  there  might 
be  a  moment  when  she  would  miss  Stokes  sadly.  She 
had  — 

Rising  abruptly,  she  turned  on  the  light,  and  seated  her- 
self at  the  desk  to  redeem  her  promise.  As  she  wrote, 
she  began  to  regain  the  vague  sense  of  self-satisfaction 
that  had  threatened  to  escape  her.  She  was  as  good  as 
her  word  and  better.  She  cast  Stokes  off  utterly  and 
without  reserve.  She  made  it  quite  clear,  without  going 
into  reasons,  that  there  was  not  and  never  would  be  any 
chance  whatever  for  him  so  far  as  she  was  concerned, 
and  that  circumstances  made  it  imperative  that  he  should 
not  communicate  further  with  her  in  any  way.  She  was 
resolute,  but  not  unfriendly,  advising  him  to  become  in- 
terested in  some  one  else  (who  might  be  Miss  Melendy's 
friend,  though  Phil  was  probably  too  fastidious  for  any 
such  person). 

Having  fulfilled  her  part  of  the  bargain,  she  decided 
to  retire  at  once  and  get  a  long  night's  rest.  But  an 
hour  and  a  half  passed  and  she  was  still  wide  awake. 
Sleep  did  not  come  to  her,  nor  even  rest.  Her  sense  of 
self-satisfaction  had  oozed  away,  and  poignant  discom- 
fort made  her  bed  a  place  of  torture. 

She  couldn't  understand  why  she  should  suffer,  unless 
it  was  that  contact  with  Miss  Melendy  always  left  her 
ill  at  ease.  Surely  she  hadn't  asked  anything  of  Miss 
Melendy  in  comparison  with  what  that  young  person  had 
coolly  demanded  of  her.  But  Miss  Melendy  hadn't  been 
fair;  she  had  behaved  as  if  she,  Erica,  had  some  under- 
hand motive.     She  was  evidently  of  a  suspicious  nature. 

Well,  since  she  so  suspected  and  disliked  her,  separation 
from  her  would  be  good  for  Miss  Melendy.  It  was  her 
first  visit  to  Europe  and  would  probably  be  her  last,  and 


FIREWEED  267 

already  she  had  missed  a  lot  that  she  should  have  seen 
simply  because  she  wouldn't  go  where  Erica  went.  Of 
late,  it  is  true,  she  had  unbent  a  trifle  in  that  respect,  but 
only  because  the  request  had  come  from  Mr.  Cotton, — 
the  entreaty,  rather,  for  she  had  had  to  be  coaxed  like  a 
sulky  child. 

On  a  sudden,  Erica's  thoughts  wandered.  She  rather 
wondered  that  one  like  Mr.  Cotton  should  be  willing  to 
coax  Miss  Melendy.  Evidently  he  considered  her  worth 
it.     Erica  winced. 

And  again,  as  she  reflected  that  he  wouldn't  have  felt 
her  worth  it,  she  was  haled  sharply  back  to  the  present. 
Ah !  what  would  he  think  of  this  action  of  hers  ?  He 
would  never  know,  of  course:  Erica  acknowledged  that 
Miss  Melendy  wasn't  the  sort  to  tell.  No  matter  how 
much  one  disliked  the  girl,  one  would  trust  her  down  to 
the  ground. 

Erica  sighed  deeply.  But  after  all,  she  protested,  it 
was  a  bargain  —  something  ventured,  something  gained, 
on  both  sides.  Of  course,  what  Miss  Melendy  gained 
wasn't  for  herself  —  Erica  wished  with  all  her  heart  it 
had  been.  But,  ah !  if  it  had  been,  would  she  ever  have 
asked  it?  Erica  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  she  might 
have,  but  she  knew  better.  And  when  the  question  forced 
itself  upon  her  consciousness,  —  whether  Miss  Melendy 
would  ever  have  demanded  the  compensation  she  had 
herself  asked,  she  winced  again.  No,  that  was  impos- 
sible, unthinkable. 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  the  pension  very  still.  Erica 
sprang  impatiently  from  bed  and  dropped  down  into  the 
chair  by  the  window.  All  without  was  quiet,  too,  with  a 
radiance  in  the  sky  at  the  horizon.  She  rested  her  tired 
head  and  her  hot  cheek  on  the  broad  sill. 

But  rest  was  not  here,  nor  respite.  No,  Miss  Melendy 
would  never  have  accepted  that  sort  of  sacrifice,  even 


268  FIREWEED 

had  it  been  pressed  upon  her.  If  she  hadn't  been  too 
proud,  she  would  have  been  too  good.  It  was  a  hard 
fact  to  face ;  but  there  it  was. 

Well,  it  was  done  and  Erica  couldn't  help  it  now. 
Every  one  made  mistakes;  every  one  had  to  begin  over 
more  than  once  or  twice.  She  had  made  a  slip,  but  she 
would  try  again;  and  with  Miss  Lancaster  and  Miss 
Melendy  out  of  the  way,  she  would  be  able  to  get  a  better 
start. 

Her  eagerness  to  persuade  herself  of  this.  Erica  mis- 
took for  the  high  glow  of  resolve.  But  it  all  flared  out, 
and  left  her  heart  strangely  cold  and  aching  dully,  and 
she  crept  into  bed,  resolved  to  postpone  all  further  con- 
sideration of  the  matter  until  morning. 

Presently,  she  said  to  herself  that  she  wished  she 
hadn't  done  it.  If  only  she  had  resisted  the  temptation 
as  it  came  to  her,  she  might  have  acquired  merit,  like  the 
Lama  in  Kim,  —  only  it  hadn't  been  temptation.  It  had 
flashed  into  her  mind  so  swiftly  that  there  had  been  no 
chance  to  inspect  or  label  the  impulse ;  indeed,  it  seemed 
to  have  been  bom  on  her  lips  as  spoken  words. 

And  having  heard  herself  speak  the  words,  she  had 
been  forced  to  stand  by  them.  Miss  Melendy's  scorn 
had  naturally  strengthened  her  purpose,  and  —  well,  that 
was  all  there  was  to  it !  She  wished  she  hadn't  done  it : 
but  done  it  was,  and  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 

Thus  for  some  little  time  Erica  Manners  communed 
with  herself.  Then,  on  a  sudden,  remembrance  of  the 
day  in  the  Catacombs  smote  her.  She  had  cried  out  in 
prayer,  ignorantly  and  blunderingly,  it  is  true,  yet  out  of 
her  heart.  And  for  answer,  Mr.  Cotton  had  appeared 
out  of  that  awful  leaguer  of  shadows.  In  a  way,  that 
frightened  prayer  had  been  a  vow.  And  now,  only  a  few 
days  after,  she  had  done  what  she  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  contemplate  before  that  dark  hour. 


FIREWEED  269 

She  wrestled  with  this  phase  of  the  matter,  but  she 
could  not  down  it,  could  not  see  it  in  any  other  light. 
At  length  she  rose  again  and  taking  her  portfolio  to  the 
window  to  catch  the  light  of  the  dawn,  seated  herself 
there  for  the  third  time  and  wrote  the  following  note : 

"  Dear  Miss  Melendy,  will  you  please  consider  what  I 
asked  of  you  as  unsaid?  It  was  really  proposed  only  in 
jest,  but  your  excitement  and  anger  made  me  persist  in  it 
far  beyond  what  I  should  have  dreamed  of  doing  other- 
wise, I  have  of  course  written  to  Mr.  Stokes,  and  was 
glad  to  do  it.  But  I  beg  that  you  will  not  allow  yourself 
to  be  influenced  in  any  way  by  that  foolish  mistake. 
"  Very  truly  yours, 

"  Erica  Ericson  Manners." 

Sealing  and  directing  the  envelope  without  stamping  it, 
she  placed  it  opposite  the  other  note  on  the  mantel  and 
returned  to  bed.  Half  an  hour  later,  she  rose  again  and 
tore  it  into  bits.     Again  she  wrote : 

"  Dear  Miss  Melendy,  I  did  a  very  wrong  thing  when 
I  forced  you  into  that  agreement.  I  proposed  what  I 
did  under  excitement,  and  I  have  only  realized  after  con- 
sideration what  it  means.  Now  I  have  thought  it  over, 
I  am  terribly  ashamed  of  myself  and  truly  sorry.  Please 
show  that  you  accept  my  apology  and  understand  my 
extreme  regret  by  acting  as  if  the  proposal  had  never 
been  made. 

"  My  note  to  Mr.  Stokes,  which  I  am  glad  to  have 
written,  will  be  on  its  way  by  the  time  you  get  this. 
"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  Erica  Manners." 

As  she  dated  the  note,  Erica  realized  that  another  day 
had  dawned  and  wrote  August  third. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

Erica  Manners  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion  far  into 
the  morning,  as  a  consequence  of  which,  though  the  letter 
to  Stokes  was  posted  early,  the  note  to  Miss  Melendy, 
which  Miss  Lancaster  only  discovered  upon  her  return 
from  shopping,  was  not  sent  to  her  room  until  after 
luncheon  and  the  girl  did  not  find  it  until  late  in  the 
afternoon.  And  by  that  time  any  effect  that  it  might 
have  had  had  she  read  it  earlier  had  been  neutralized. 
It  was  like  a  check  on  a  bank  that  had  failed  the  day 
before  the  check  was  drawn. 

Miss  Melendy 's  long  night  was  compensated  by  the 
sight  of  Nancy  appearing  at  the  breakfast  table,  for  the 
first  time  since  they  had  been  in  Italy,  with  her  father 
beaming  beside  her. 

"  Why,  Nancy  Cotton,  what  lark  is  this ! "  she  cried 
incredulously. 

The  girl  smiled.     "  Oh,  Hank,  I  slept  last  night  like  — " 

"  A  top,  though  why  that's  supposed  to  sleep  more 
soundly  than  a  dormouse,  beats  me." 

Nancy  laughed. 

"  I  felt  like  going  somewhere  this  morning,  so  I  got 
up,"  she  declared.  "  Pappy's  going  to  take  me  to  see 
the  pet  chicken.  Oh,  Hank,  I  believe  that  I  shall  tramp 
the  Swiss  mountains  with  you  1 " 

Miss  Melendy  could  scarcely  believe  her  eyes.  But 
Nancy  ate  a  moderate  breakfast,  and  didn't  lean  on  her 
father  as  they  left  the  table.  As  Cotton  went  into  the 
office,  she  drew  Nancy  aside. 

270 


FIREWEED  271 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind,  Nancy  darling,  and  am  not 
going  by  way  of  Switzerland  after  all,"  she  said  reluc- 
tantly.    "  I'm  going  into  Germany  with  Miss  Burgess." 

"  Oh,  Hank !  "  cried  Nancy  in  deep  dismay,  "  that  will 
spoil  everything.     Do  you  care  a  lot  about  Germany  ?  " 

"  I  seem  to  be  rather  keen  about  it  just  at  the  last 
minute,"  the  girl  said  in  an  odd  voice,  "  but  there'll  be 
Venice  first,  you  know,  Nancy,  and  then  the  journey 
home." 

Nancy  put  her  arms  about  her.  "  I  want  you  to  do 
what  you  like,  Hank,  for  once,  because  you  never  think 
of  yourself,  but  —  oh,  it  will  be  dreary  without  you.  I 
shall  stick  to  you  like  a  burr  until  you  leave  and  then  as 
soon  as  you  get  back  to  us  again." 

She  went  rather  soberly  on  to  her  room.  Miss  Melendy 
found  Cotton  waiting  for  her  in  the  corridor. 

"  I  can't  be  mistaken  Miss  Melendy,  can  I,  in  thinking 
that  Nancy's  a  heap  better  this  morning?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I'm  applying  to  the  physician  that  wrought  the  change 
to  ask  if  it's  true  or  if  her  father's  seeing  things  ?  " 

"  Nancy's  better,  sure,"  said  Hank.  "  It's  plain  as 
pudding,  and  every  one  will  throw  up  his  hat  and  cheer. 
And  if  I  was  lucky  enough  to  have  any  part  in  it,  —  why, 
it's  no  end  of  a  lark,  of  course,  to  feel  as  if  one  could 
do  anything  for  Nancy." 

Cotton  held  out  his  hand,  and  taking  hers  almost  sol- 
emnly, pressed  it  warmly.  Hank  found  herself  weak  and 
glad  to  drop  into  a  chair  when  she  reached  her  room. 
But  the  gratitude  in  her  heart  warmed  it  royally.  She 
had  truly  done  something  for  Mr.  Cotton ;  she  hadn't  so 
aimed ;  her  thought  had  been  all  for  Nancy.  But  she  had 
succeeded  none  the  less,  and  the  consciousness  of  it  would 
be  with  her  wherever  she  went,  as  a  solace.  It  would 
last  many  days.  It  would  render  even  those  two  weeks 
in  Germany  endurable. 


272  FIREWEED 

Cotton,  meanwhile,  coming  upon  his  daughter,  saw 
her  sobered  face  with  apprehension. 

"  Oh,  honey,  do  you  feel  tired  again  ?  "  he  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  Oh,  pappy,"  she  laughed,  "  when  it's  hardly  ten  min- 
utes since  you  saw  me!  I'm  fresh  as  ever,  and  ready 
to  go  out  when  you  are." 

"  I  thought  you  looked  sort  of  mournful,  honey." 

"  Oh,  pappy.  Hank's  going  with  the  other  party  —  Miss 
Burgess's,  you  know.  I  don't  know  how  to  get  along 
without  her." 

"  Going  with  the  doctor's  sister !  You  don't  say !  "  her 
father  exclaimed  with  some  dismay.  "  I  don't  know  how 
any  of  us  will  get  along  without  her.    And  you  —  " 

He  considered.  He  had  of  course  weightier  reasons 
than  Binjen  on  the  Rhine  for  his  choice.  But  eying  his 
daughter  searchingly,  he  made  a  quick  decision. 

"  I  reckon,  honey,  that  you  and  I  could  still  change  and 
go  that  way,  too,  if  you  like?  " 

"  Oh,  pappy,  I'd  love  to.  Hank  is  such  a  darling ! " 
cried  Nancy  with  an  enthusiasm  that  was  strange  and 
wonderful  to  her  father.  He  declared  that  he  would  fix 
it  up  with  the  doctor  at  once,  and  went  in  search  of  him. 
But  Dr.  Burgess  was  not  to  be  found  about  the  pension, 
and  he  postponed  it  until  luncheon  time.  As  Miss  Me- 
lendy  descended  the  stair  a  few  minutes  later,  she  saw 
the  father  and  daughter  driving  happily  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Forum. 

She,  too,  was  in  search  of  Dr.  Burgess  to  arrange 
about  changing  her  plans.  No  one  seemed  to  know  any- 
thing about  him;  but  Mrs.  Burgess  had  a  vague  notion 
that  he  had  just  stepped  out  to  have  the  tickets  for  Ven- 
ice countersigned,  or  whatever  it  was,  and  was  sure  that 
he  would  be  back  shortly.  The  girl  seated  herself  in 
the  lobby  to  wait  for  him.     She  was  anxious  to  have  the 


FIREWEED  273 

matter  settled  before  she  should  see  Mrs.  Manners  or 
have  to  explain  to  any  of  the  others. 

For  their  first  week  in  Rome,  the  Burgess  party  had 
had  the  pension  almost  to  themselves ;  but  during  the  last 
few  days  it  had  been  filled  to  the  limit  of  its  capacity. 
And  this  morning  there  was  much  going  and  coming, 
much  gathering  in  groups  and  animated  discussion.  Miss 
Melendy  sat  where  she  could  see  the  entrance,  but  at 
such  a  distance  that  she  caught  no  words.  She  couldn't 
but  realize  that  there  was  some  excitement  abroad,  but 
she  was  for  the  moment  too  absorbed  in  what  was  before 
her  to  take  any  interest  in  anything  else.  When  she 
finally  saw  Dr.  Burgess  coming  through  the  arch  from 
the  tram  car,  she  walked  out  into  the  street  to  meet  him. 

He  looked  hot  and  tired.  For  the  first  time,  it  struck 
Miss  Melendy  that  he  was  an  old  man.  But,  however 
concerned  she  felt  for  his  fatigue,  she  could  not  spare 
him.  She  must  fulfil  her  promise.  She  made  her  pro- 
posal briefly  and  in  businesslike  manner. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Melendy,"  he  protested  in  a  strange 
voice  that  somehow  made  her  feel  very  remiss.  She  won- 
dered whether  he  felt  hurt  that  she  should  wish  to  desert 
the  original  party,  or  whether  it  was  going  to  be  a  great 
bother  for  him  to  change  her  about  at  this  late  hour. 
But  she  simply  must  put  it  through.  Otherwise,  Mrs. 
Manners  would  back  out,  and  then  —  Nancy ! 

"  I  am  more  than  sorry  for  the  bother,  doctor,"  she 
said  earnestly,  "  but  I  really  am  very  anxious  to  make 
the  change.     You  see  —  " 

He  stopped  short  on  the  Corso  and  looked  down  upon 
her  with  an  expression  as  unfamiliar  as  his  voice. 

"  Miss  Melendy,  no  one  will  go  that  way,"  he  declared 
with  curious  emphasis.  "  In  fact,  none  of  us  will  go  any- 
where outside  of  Italy.  We  can't  get  out.  We  can't 
cross  the  frontier." 


274  FIREWEED 

His  face  was  certainly  very  red.  Hank  gazed  at  him 
with  amazement  and  great  concern.  He  must  have  suf- 
fered sunstroke.  She  wondered  if  she  ought  to  take  his 
arm.     He  might  fall  at  any  moment. 

She  moved  nearer.  "  We  mustn't  stand  here  in  the 
sun,"  she  murmured  soothingly,  and  reading  her  look. 
Dr.  Burgess  smiled.     But  his  face  sobered  again  at  once. 

"  I'm  quite  myself,  dear  child,"  he  reassured  her.  "  It's 
only  that  I  have  very  disquieting  news.  You  know  — 
Austria's  ultimatum  to  Servia  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  doctor,  but  —  " 

"  And  that  there  was  chance  of  its  leading  to  war  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  no  one  thinks  that  it  will  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  hear  that  leader  some  one  read  out  of  the 
Daily  Mail  of  —  Wednesday,  perhaps,  for  we  got  it  Sat- 
urday—  that  said  that  if  trouble  resulted  because  of 
Austria's  excessive  demands,  it  would  in  all  probability 
be  merely  local.  But  it  added  that  there  were  racial  and 
political  ramifications  that  might  involve  all  Europe,  — 
in  which  case  the  greatest  calamity  of  the  world's  history 
would  be  upon  us." 

Miss  Melendy's  face  was  incredulous.  Of  course,  she 
said  to  herself,  if  one  was  to  grow  old,  it  has  to  begin 
some  time.  It  wasn't  at  all  like  the  doctor  to  go  off  at  a 
tangent  like  this  just  to  explain  what  she  already  knew 
that  they  weren't  to  travel  in  Austria  except  to  get  into 
Germany. 

"  No,  doctor,  I  missed  all  that,"  she  declared.  "  How 
they  croak,  don't  they,  those  newspapers?  Back  home, 
we'd  call  it  yellow  journalism,  wouldn't  we?" 

She  saw  that  he  did  not  hear.  They  had  stopped  on 
the  steps.     He  looked  at  her  very  gravely. 

"  Miss  Melendy,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  the  worst  has 
happened.  At  this  very  moment,  all  Europe  is  in  arms, 
on  the  very  brink  of  battle.     Indeed,  there  are  rumors 


FIREWEED  275 

already  that  blood  has  been  shed  between  Germany  and 
France." 

"  Germany  and  France !  "  the  girl  cried,  more  than  ever 
in  a  maze,  "  but,  doctor,  what  have  they  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  That  doesn't  seem  to  make  any  difference,"  he  said 
wearily.  "  There's  not  much  understanding  possible. 
Russia,  too,  is  said  to  be  mobilizing." 

The  office  and  lobby  were  thronged  with  a  noisy,  ex- 
cited throng.  Dr.  Burgess  pushed  his  way  through  them 
as  he  went  in  search  of  Cotton.  Miss  Melendy,  still 
dazed  and  incredulous,  went  from  group  to  group  listen- 
ing in  wide-eyed  amazement. 

It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  she  must  be  in  a  nightmare. 
It  was  truly  inconceivable.  Only  yesterday  there  was  no 
slightest  intimation  of  any  such  thing,  and  to-day  —  no, 
it  wasn't  possible  for  a  great  convulsion  of  human  nature 
to  fall  with  the  instantaneousness  of  an  earthquake.  All 
her  life  she  had  heard  it  affirmed,  like  a  principle  of 
science  or  a  geometrical  axiom,  that  there  could  never 
be  another  great  war.  And  she  had  had  an  idea  that  the 
Hague  Conference  had  set  a  definite  seal  upon  that  uni- 
versally accepted  dictum.  Yet  now,  here  were  people 
glibly  talking  of  the  whole  continent  of  Europe  being  in 
arms.  It  couldn't  be.  This  was  only  Monday.  Europe 
simply  couldn't  have  gone  to  war  over  Sunday.  It  was 
some  awful  mistake  due  to  these  rabid  Italian  newspapers. 

Moving  from  circle  to  circle,  she  gained  little  fragmen- 
tary talk  about  the  Consulate  and  the  Embassy,  questions 
of  passports  and  whether  money  and  tickets  would  be 
refunded.  But  no  one  seemed  to  have  so  much  definite 
information  as  Dr.  Burgess  had  brought. 

At  luncheon,  of  course,  nothing  else  was  discussed,  and 
never  had  there  been  more  confusion  at  the  Burgess 
table.  But  Cotton  saw  the  situation  in  a  reassuring  light. 
He  called  Miss  Melendy's  attention  to  the  fact  that  they 


276  FIREWEED 

had  heard  at  the  Embassy  on  Saturday  that  the  Amer- 
ican ambassador  was  leaving  a  northern  port  that  day 
for  a  vacation  in  America. 

"  I  can't  help  feeling,  doctor,"  he  concluded,  "  that  if 
international  complications  had  been  sufficiently  serious 
to  have  led  up  to  the  state  of  affairs  predicated  to-day, 
the  American  ambassador  would  have  known  and  must 
have  remained  at  his  post.  For  what  is  hidden  to  ordi- 
nary eyes,  yes,  and  even  to  extraordinary  ones  —  is  of 
course  plain  to  diplomacy.  And  a  big  affair  like  this 
wouldn't  happen  overnight.  You  can  be  pretty  sure  that 
he  knew  exactly  what  portended  before  he  boarded  his 
vessel.  All  this  excitement  must  be  merely  a  flash  in 
the  pan.  In  a  day  or  so,  we'll  wake  up  and  find  every- 
thing normal.  You  know  how  it  is  when  the  streets  of 
a  big  city  have  been  cleared  for  a  procession?  It  passes, 
and  traffic  is  resumed.  For  a  little  it  looks  as  if  the 
mixture  of  carts,  carriages,  trucks  and  human  beings 
would  never  be  unscrambled ;  but  after  a  little  you'd  never 
know  anything  had  happened.  I  shouldn't  wonder  at 
all  if  time  tables  would  be  in  effect  again  this  day  week, 
and  trains  in  motion  transporting  passengers  to  and  from 
France,  Germany,  Russia  and  Switzerland  or  whitherso- 
ever they  choose  to  go.  Austria  will  wear  her  helmet 
for  a  week  and  stand  threateningly  over  Servia,  but  the 
great  powers  will  whisper  in  her  ear.  Concessions  will 
be  mutually  exchanged,  and  traffic  will  be  resumed,  and 
everybody  will  be  doing  business  at  the  old  stand." 

Dr.  Burgess  was  sensibly  relieved.  He  and  Cotton 
went  out  together  directly  after  luncheon,  and  did  not 
return  until  tea  time.  The  doctor  joined  such  members 
of  the  party  as  were  having  tea  on  the  roof.  He  said 
they  would  not  go  on  to  Venice  for  the  present ;  and  he 
couldn't  yet  tell  whether  any  modified  itinerary  could  be 
made  out. 


FIREWEED  277 

"  For  even  if  wai*  is  averted,  as  I  believe  it  will  be,  it 
will  take  weeks,  they  tell  me,  to  get  back  to  normal  even 
after  only  such  mobilization  as  has  already  taken  place. 
We  have  upwards  of  three  weeks  before  our  steamer 
sails.  I  am  going  back  now  to  the  Embassy  and  to  the 
steamship  and  tourist  offices ;  but  I  have  little  expecta- 
tion of  our  being  able  to  do  more  than  travel  about  Italy 
and  then  get  up  to  Boulogne  in  good  season  for  our  boat." 

He  swallowed  his  second  cup  of  tea  and  went  down 
to  the  lobby  where  Cotton  was  waiting  for  him  with  an 
American  business  man  who  had  appointments  with  Ger- 
man firms  and  was  anxious  to  get  into  that  country.  The 
three  hurried  out  to  add  to  the  throng  of  foreigners 
besieging  the  strongholds  of  the  city  of  Rome. 

After  he  had  gone  Miss  Melendy  lingered  to  discuss 
the  matter  with  the  others.  She  did  not  get  to  her  room 
until  after  five  at  which  time  she  discovered  Mrs.  Man- 
ners's  note.  She  hadn't  seen  Mrs.  Manners  since  the 
evening  before,  and  had  utterly  forgotten  the  lesser  sit- 
uation in  the  excitement  of  the  greater.  She  read  the 
note  with  amazement  that  turned  to  scorn. 

The  girl  was  not  at  all  of  a  suspicious  nature.  Open 
and  frank  herself,  it  was  like  her  to  think  well  of  every 
one.  But  she  had  never  trusted  Mrs.  Manners,  and  now 
there  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind. 

The  note  bore  the  date  of  to-day,  and  she  took  it  for 
granted  it  had  just  been  brought  in.  She  supposed  that 
Mrs.  Manners  had  learned  that  there  would  be  no  going 
north,  except  to  Boulogne  for  the  boat,  and  no  division 
of  the  party,  and  that  Miss  Melendy  couldn't  carry  out 
her  part  of  the  bargain,  and  she  had  written  the  note  to 
claim  a  virtue  from  necessity.  She  had  probably  been 
afraid  Hank  would  tell  the  others,  and  the  girl's  scorn 
increased  manifold. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

The  week  opening  with  that  astounding,  that  incred- 
ible, that  momentous  Monday,  dragged  itself  out,  unique, 
unhappily  unique,  in  the  history  of  every  member  of  the 
party  of  Americans  with  which  we  are  concerned.  They, 
like  countless  others,  struggled  against  accepting  or  be- 
lieving the  monstrous  tidings,  but  the  struggle  was  a 
losing  one.  The  return  of  the  ambassador,  who  was 
allowed  to  make  his  way  across  the  continent  by  means 
of  the  soldiers'  trains  to  reach  his  post,  dispelled  such 
assurance  as  his  absence  had  seemed  to  afford.  Pres- 
ently, every  one  was  fain  to  acknowledge  that  actual  war- 
fare was  in  progress  and  that  they  were  prisoners  in 
Italy. 

It  was  difficult  to  get  information  concerning  even  the 
most  general  operations,  and  impossible  to  secure  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  details.  There  was  apparently  no 
communication  with  the  world  outside.  Germany, 
France  and  Russia  seemed  already  to  be  fighting;  and  it 
was  taken  for  granted  that  Austria  must  have  attacked 
Servia,  else  why  these  others?  Before  the  week  came  to 
an  end,  word  came  through  somehow  that  England  had 
entered  the  arena.  There  were  also  rumors  concerning 
Belgium,  but  none  credited  these,  for  why  should  that 
tiny  nation  fling  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  great  powers? 
The  Italian  papers  mentioned  but  one  battle  ground :  each 
day  they  reported  a  great  engagement  in  process  between 
the  French  and  Germans  at  Miilhausen  with  tremendous 
losses.     No  other  fighting  was  recorded,  and  it  seemed 

278 


FIREWEED  279 

rather  repetition  from  day  to  day  than  fresh  informa- 
tion. Indeed,  so  long  as  our  Americans  remained  in 
Italy,  they  had  no  clearer  conception  of  the  state  of 
affairs  than  that  three  or  four  great  nations  were  at  war, 
and  that  actual  fighting  was  going  on  in  one  city  of 
Alsace. 

The  aspect  of  Rome  changed  overnight.  Excitement 
was  rife.  Always  full  of  strangers,  Rome  now  was  full 
of  strangers  with  a  difference.  The  railway  stations 
overflowed  with  Italian  laborers  who  had  been  sent  over 
the  frontier  from  the  borders  of  Austria  and  France ;  and 
that  helped  give  currency  to  the  rumor  that  Italy  was  about 
to  enter  the  struggle.  One  heard  now  that  she  was  in 
duty  bound  to  support  the  Triple  Alliance;  again  it 
was  positively  stated  that  she  would  fight  against  it.  In 
any  event  few  doubted  that  she  would  be  in  the  thick  of 
the  conflict  before  many  days,  —  at  most  within  a  fort- 
night. The  streets  were  thronged  with  soldiers  in  the 
various  handsome  uniforms  of  the  Italian  army,  mostly 
in  twos  and  threes  and  small  groups,  but  now  and  again 
in  companies.  The  ancient  city  of  the  Forum,  the  Pan- 
theon and  the  Caesars,  the  medieval  city  of  the  popes, 
princes  and  captains,  the  city  of  Michelangelo,  of  the 
painters  and  architects,  even  the  modem  city  of  fountains 
and  gardens,  flower-girls  and  tourists,  had  quite  vanished 
or  been  swallowed  up.  This  Rome  of  August,  1914,  was 
essentially  the  capital  of  Italy,  the  residence  of  King  and 
government,  to  which  the  people  looked  for  guidance 
and  direction  in  the  clash  of  world  forces. 

Dr.  Burgess,  with  his  party  to  provide  for,  and  the 
possibility  of  his  sister  and  six  other  women  to  be  added, 
should  they  be  able  to  get  through  from  France,  was 
worried  and  anxious,  haunting  the  steamship  offices  in 
the  effort  to  secure  passage  and  get  his  flock  out  of  Italy 
before  anything  should  occur  that  might  shut  them  up 


28o  FIREWEED 

there  for  the  winter.  Most  of  the  members  of  the  party 
passed  their  days  in  the  same  manner  as  other  Americans 
in  Rome,  going  about  from  one  station  of  their  country- 
men to  another,  in  a  state  of  bootless  suspense.  The 
most  crowded  of  these  places  was  the  Consulate,  where 
the  throng  was  constant,  though  the  units  that  made  it 
up  varied,  from  an  hour  before  it  opened  at  ten,  until  it 
closed  in  the  late  afternoon.  It  was  noisy  and  confused 
beyond  words.  People  registered,  clamored  for  pass- 
ports, changed  their  quarters  and  registered  again;  they 
asked  innumerable  questions,  a  great  part  of  them  irrele- 
vant, repeated  them  over  and  over,  and  entered  into  dis- 
cussions with  one  another  that  branched  fantastically  in 
all  directions  from  the  few  facts  available. 

The  greater  number  of  the  Burgess  party  had  fixed 
engagements  as  well  as  friends  to  draw  them  home,  and 
there  was  considerable  real  anxiety.  Erica  Manners, 
having  nothing  to  call  her,  was  not  concerned  about  the 
chance  of  getting  to  America  at  any  particular  time,  and 
though  she  was  truly  sympathetic  with  those  of  the  others 
who  confided  their  difficulties  and  worries  to  her,  for 
herself  she  did  not  dislike  the  idea  of  being  in  a  belea- 
guered city  so  long  as  Mr.  Cotton  was  there.  There  wasn't 
at  this  time  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  real  state  of 
affairs  outside  to  elicit  strong  personal  feeling  in  regard 
to  the  fighting,  or  any  but  vague  sympathy,  so  that  in 
that  respect  Erica  nor  any  other  as  little  informed  was 
to  be  considered  remiss  in  looking  at  the  situation  from 
a  personal  standpoint.  And  a  certain  personal  relief  that 
was  on  her  gave  her  almost  a  sense  of  exhilaration.  The 
thought  of  what  she  had  so  narrowly  escaped,  the  real 
ignominy  she  had  just  saved  herself  from  committing  — 
or  at  least  from  perpetuating  —  while  it  sobered  Erica 
Manners,  made  her  actively  grateful.  Her  feeling  was 
the  stronger  when  she  realized  that  had  she  delayed  but 


FIREWEED  281 

a  day,  it  would  have  been  too  late.  Miss  Melendy 
•wouldn't  then  have  believed  in  her  sincerity;  and  Erica 
was  not  yet  at  the  point  where  to  satisfy  one's  own  con- 
science is  sufficient. 

Cotton,  while  quite  indifferent  to  personal  risk  or  in- 
convenience, was  profoundly  moved  by  this  sudden  and 
seemingly  momentous  upheaval  of  society.  Eager  for 
tidings,  for  a  clew  to  the  mystery,  he  had  never  found  it 
so  difficult  to  command  the  patience  that  had  seemed  to 
be  habitual  with  him.  He,  too,  went  about  much,  talk- 
ing, perhaps,  more  than  any  other  member  of  the  party; 
but  he  avoided  the  places  where  the  crowds  were  thickest 
and  did  not  spend  his  whole  day  in  the  process  like  nearly 
every  one  else. 

The  inexplicable  improvement  in  Nancy's  strength 
holding,  her  father  devoted  a  goodly  portion  of  these 
extra  days  in  Rome  in  taking  her  about  the  old  city. 
She  had  seen  almost  nothing,  and  it  was  his  delight  to 
revisit  old  shrines.  Wherefore,  however  anxiously  the 
day  started,  he  came  back  to  the  pension  in  the  late  after- 
noon with  his  daughter,  refreshed  and  cheerful,  ready  to 
pass  the  evening  in  the  endeavor  to  while  away  the  time 
and  raise  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  rather  curious  mix- 
ture of  folk  now  gathered  under  the  roof  of  the  old 
palace  whom  the  common  ill  predicament  had  made  like 
one  great  family. 

Miss  Melendy,  who  was  always  asked  to  share  the 
expeditions  of  the  Cottons,  constantly  excused  herself, 
making,  instead,  one  of  the  number  who  accomplished  the 
rounds  of  Embassy,  Consulate,  express  and  tourist  of- 
fices daily.  It  was  not  entirely  by  choice  that  she  so 
acted.  She  felt  that  her  contract  with  Mrs.  Manners 
bound  her  to  separate  herself  from  those  from  whom  she 
would  have  been  separated  had  it  been  possible  to  carry 
out  the  schedule.     At  the  same  time,  she  did  this  so  unos- 


282  FIREWEED 

tentatiously  that  no  one  would  have  guessed  that  she  was 
not  acting  according  to  her  preference.  Even  Erica  Man- 
ners did  not  suspect  for  some  time  that  the  girl  had  not 
accepted  her  note  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  had  been 
written. 

On  Saturday,  there  arrived  at  the  already  crowded 
pension  a  party  of  young  girls  under  the  care  of  the  prin- 
cipal of  a  school  on  the  Hudson  River.  They  came  from 
Venice  according  to  schedule,  but  they  did  not  find,  ac- 
cording to  the  same  schedule,  a  second  group  from  the 
same  school  in  charge  of  one  of  the  teachers,  who  were 
to  have  joined  them  in  Rome  on  their  return  from  visit- 
ing the  exhibition  in  Norway.  On  Sunday,  Miss  Double- 
day  had  a  conference  with  Dr.  Burgess  during  w^hich  she 
explained  that  she  had,  before  leaving  America  in  June, 
secured  passage  home  for  her  entire  party  on  an  Eng- 
lish boat  that  was  due  to  leave  Naples  in  ten  days.  The 
company  assured  her  that  the  vessel  would  sail;  but 
every  one  told  her  it  was  impossible  that  the  others  would 
be  able  to  get  through  to  Italy.  In  that  case,  she  offered 
the  extra  places  to  him  for  his  party. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  among  the  party.  They  left 
Rome  for  Naples  on  Monday,  it  being  believed  that  if 
Italy  should  enter  the  war  within  the  ten  days,  on  the 
side  of  the  Triple  Alliance,  the  English  boat  might  slip 
away  betimes.  As  they  waited  for  more  than  an  hour 
beyond  the  scheduled  time  for  their  train  in  the  fiercely 
hot  August  sun,  the  railway  station  was  a  place  of  utter 
confusion.  As  they  stood  among  their  luggage  on  the 
platform,  train  after  train  pulled  in  consisting  wholly  of 
third-class  carriages  which  emptied  out  hundreds  of 
swarthy,  sun-bumed  Italians,  men,  women,  children  and 
infants,  dressed  in  heavy  woolen  or  corduroy,  seem- 
ingly wearing  all  the  clothing  they  possessed,  and  toiling 
and  sweating  under  immense  bundles  and  packs  in  sheets 


FIREWEED  283 

and  sacking.  They  were,  or  had  been,  residents  of  lands 
across  the  borders  who  had  been  hurried  to  the  frontier 
as  soon  as  war  was  declared  and  thrust  across  it,  bearing 
all  their  worldly  goods  on  their  backs  or  in  their  arms. 
The  stream  of  these  people  was  apparently  endless,  but 
no  one  seemed  to  know  whither  it  flowed.  No  one  knew 
what  was  to  become  of  these  dispossessed  laborers  with 
their  families,  they  themselves  least  of  all.  Their  eyes 
looked  frightened,  questioning,  confused,  yet  patient. 
There  was  no  sullenness  nor  rebellion  visible. 

"  Poor  things !  they  look  like  dumb  driven  cattle,  don't 
they  ?  "  cried  Mary  Little. 

Cotton  was  lending  a  helping  hand  wherever  he  could, 
carrying  a  fatherless,  sickly  baby  to  a  place  where  the 
mother  could  sit  down  with  it,  helping  an  overburdened 
young  girl  or  boy,  and  cheering  the  children  with  sweets. 
And  when  finally  the  train  for  Naples  really  pulled  in, 
he  was  the  last  to  take  his  place  in  the  carriage. 

"  I  haven't  really  believed  it  before,"  he  remarked  to 
Dr.  Burgess  as  he  mopped  his  dripping  brow.  "  But  now 
I  do.  That  makes  it  real,  that  picture  yonder.  War  is 
surely  upon  us." 

It  was  so  with  the  others.  It  was  that  picture  that 
first  made  war  a  reality  to  all  the  party.  It  was  still  in 
progress,  moreover,  as  they  pulled  out.  The  last  thing 
they  saw  was  that  slow-moving,  endless  procession  of 
poor,  tired,  hot,  perspiring  human  beings,  heavy  laden 
with  goods  and  babies,  ignorant  of  what  fate  lay  before 
them,  yet  patient  and  uncomplaining,  with  a  kind  of  duiiib 
faith  in  their  dark,  frightened  eyes. 

At  any  time,  the  contrast  between  Rome  and  Naples 
is  striking,  but  at  this  season  of  wars  and  rumors  of  war 
it  seemed  to  our  friends  overwhelmingly  so.  They  had 
quarters  in  an  hotel  conducted  by  an  Englishman  on  the 
hill  overlooking  the  bay;  but  most  of  them  passed  their 


284  FIREWEED 

days  down  in  the  hot  city,  trying  to  forget  their  anxiety 
and  suspense  in  motion  and  bustle.  The  military  was 
constantly  in  evidence  here.  Troops  marched  back  and 
forth  through  the  city  for  drills  every  hour,  and  every 
train  brought  groups  of  soldiers  and  companies  in  uni- 
form. Moreover,  there  was  so  much  more  excitement, 
movement  and  commotion  everywhere  and  continually  as 
to  make  Rome  seem  quiet  and  sedate  in  retrospect. 
Everything  was  pitched  in  higher,  strident  key.  Even 
the  throng  of  beggars,  the  like  of  which  they  had  never 
encountered  before,  crippled,  deformed,  loathsome  from 
disease,  inveterate  though  they  plainly  were,  seemed  to 
be  a  special  feature  of  war  time. 

Hearing  everywhere  the  clamor  for  passage  to  Amer- 
ica, our  friends  felt  themselves  fortunate,  indeed,  to  have 
obtained  places  on  a  vessel ;  nevertheless,  there  was  ever- 
increasing  anxiety  as  to  the  boat.  For  the  Apulia  was 
not  yet  in,  and  so  far  as  one  could  ascertain,  there  were 
no  tidings  of  her.  Each  day  the  English  company  which 
owned  her  announced  that  they  were  reasonably  sure  she 
would  dock  before  sunset ;  but  a  week  had  gone  by,  and 
still  she  had  not  appeared.  Rumor  had  it  that  she  was 
at  Malta,  and  many  and  conflicting  were  the  explanations 
for  the  delay  there.  Some  declared  that  she  was  holding 
off  to  make  a  dash  into  Naples  at  the  last  moment,  seize 
her  passengers  and  dash  out  again.  More  experienced 
persons  retorted  that  such  is  not  the  way  of  merchant 
vessels.  Even  though  she  coaled  at  Malta  or  wherever 
she  might  be,  she  had  to  lay  in  provisions  and  supplies, 
and  a  vessel  of  her  tonnage  does  not  do  that  in  half  an 
hour  or  half  a  day. 

Nine  days  passed.  Finally,  on  the  day  she  was  an- 
nounced to  sail,  the  Apulia  came  in.  The  badgered  force 
of  clerks  at  the  office  of  the  company  were  able  to  assure 
the  throng  that  haunted  the  place  that  she  would  sail  only 


FIREWEED  285 

twenty-four  hours  late,  provided,  always,  that  Italy  did 
not  meantime  enter  the  war. 

Thus  reassured.  Dr.  Burgess  got  a  large  touring-car 
and  took  his  party  to  Pompeii.  Half  an  hour  before 
they  were  to  start.  Erica  Manners,  dressed  and  ready,  sit- 
ting idly  at  her  window  in  an  immense  room  on  the 
ground  floor  of  the  hotel,  saw  Miss  Melendy  setting 
forth  with  hat  and  sun  umbrella.  She  ran  out  and  over- 
took her, 

"  Oh,  Miss  Melendy !  "  she  cried. 

The  girl  stopped. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Manners?"  she  said  in  some  surprise. 
They  had  had  no  intercourse  with  one  another  since  the 
night  before  the  announcement  of  the  war. 

"  Aren't  you  —  going  to  Pompeii  with  us  ?  "  Erica 
gasped. 

"  I  think  not,  Mrs.  Manners,"  the  girl  returned  politely, 

"  But  why  ?  "  cried  Erica  with  mantling  cheeks.  "  Why 
aren't  you.  Miss  Melendy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  to,"  said  Miss  Melendy  coldly. 

"  But  I  wish  you  would,"  protested  Erica.  "  You 
haven't  been  anywhere  with  us  since  —  since  that  Sunday 
night.  It  isn't  fair  to  me.  You  don't  trust  my  good 
faith.  Miss  Melendy." 

Which  was  quite  true.  Miss  Melendy  did  not  deny  it ; 
but  she  tried  to  waive  the  issue. 

"  I  really  don't  want  to  go  to  Pompeii,"  she  said  bluntly. 
"  I'm  going"  down  to  the  arcade  to  get  some  gloves  and 
some  books  for  the  voyage.  Now  that  the  time's  so 
short,  it's  safe  enough  to  part  with  one's  gold,  and  I'm 
going  to  blow  in  what  I've  got  and  trust  to  Dr.  Burgess 
for  tips  on  the  boat  and  so  on." 

For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  her  life.  Erica  Manners 
returned  the  soft  answer. 

"  I  wish  very  much  you  would  go,"  she  urged  gently. 


286  FIREWEED 

"  I  wish  you  felt  like  doing  it  as  a  favor  to  me.  And  if  — 
you  had  rather  I  weren't  in  the  party,  I  won't  go.  I 
have  been  before,  you  know.  Miss  Melendy." 

"  I'm  sorry  not  to  oblige  you,  Mrs.  Manners,  but  I 
really  can't  change  my  plans,"  the  girl  insisted,  and  went 
on  into  the  hot  sun,  walking  more  briskly  than  she  felt 
inclined  to  do. 

She  had  saved  a  goodly  sum  by  not  traveling  about 
these  three  weeks,  and  she  had  been  fortunate  in  drawing 
a  large  sum  upon  her  letter  of  credit  the  week  before 
war  was  announced.  She  bought  books  for  Dr.  Burgess, 
Mrs.  Miles,  Nancy  and  Miss  Williams,  and  gloves  and 
trinkets  for  friends  at  home  that  she  had  not  remembered 
before.  She  went  to  the  English  chemists  for  Florentine 
orris  powder  for  Maude  Griffiths,  whose  precious  store 
had  been  melted  away  by  showers  one  night  when  she 
left  it  on  the  window  sill.  She  chose  baskets  of  figs, 
purple  and  green,  for  Miss  Budd  and  Miss  Little  and 
sweets  for  Miss  Lancaster  and  Mrs.  Burgess.  It  was 
rather  fun  selecting  the  things ;  but,  after  all,  as  she  sat 
in  her  cab  with  the  parcels  all  about  her,  slowly  climbing 
the  long  hill  to  the  Parco  Margherita,  the  girl's  heart  was 
heavy,  her  conscience  troubled  her.  She  had  been  more 
than  ungracious;  she  had  been  distinctly  unkind.  And 
yet,  how  could  she  have  been  otherwise?  She  certainly 
did  not  believe  in  Mrs.  Manners,  and  she  couldn't  force 
herself  to  do  so.  That  lady  had  taken  advantage  of  cir- 
cumstances to  get  out  of  an  awkward  situation  grace- 
fully. Miss  Melendy  said  to  herself  she  might  possibly 
make  herself  admire  her  cleverness;  but  beyond  that  she 
could  not  go. 

For  her  part,  Erica  Manners  bore  with  her  a  heavy 
heart  that  the  sight  of  a  long-buried  civilization  did  not 
lighten,  —  the  thought  of  a  people  whose  light  was  sud- 
denly darkened,  whose  day  became  the  black  night  of 


FIREWEED  287 

death,  almost  two  thousand  years  earlier.  Miss  Melendy 
did  not  believe  in  her.  It  was,  she  supposed,  part  of  her 
punishment  that  Miss  Melendy  did  not  trust  her.  She 
acknowledged  sadly  that  it  was  no  more  than  just  that 
it  should  be  so.  For  it  wasn't  only  because  of  what  she 
had  done  that  night  in  Rome,  but  because  she  had  been 
the  sort  of  person  to  whom  the  temptation  to  do  a  wrong, 
a  base  act  like  that,  appealed.  Miss  Melendy  couldn't  but 
feel  that  the  act  itself  was  like  her,  and  also  the  disown- 
ing it  when  circumstance  forced  her  hand.  It  was  really 
useless  to  struggle  further.  Her  past  would  always  be 
dragging  her  down ! 

They  were  on  the  return  journey,  but  the  light  was 
still  painfully  strong.  As  Erica  closed  her  eyes  a  mo- 
ment, she  had  a  nightmare  sensation  of  slipping  down, 
down.  She  opened  them  quickly.  No,  no,  she  cried 
within  herself,  she  would  not  give  over.  She  wouldn't 
even  give  over  the  struggle  to  make  this  girl  feel  her 
sincerity.  And  underneath  all,  dimly  felt  and  scarcely 
defined,  was  a  yet  stronger  purpose  to  render  and  keep 
it  of  such  a  depth  hereafter  that  it  should  defy  challenge. 

Only  one  more  day,  and  they  would  be  on  the  boat, 
homeward  bound.  Less  than  a  fortnight  later,  they 
would  be  in  New  York.  After  that,  she  might  never  see 
Miss  Melendy  —  again,  unless  — 

Well,  would  she  care  if  she  never  saw  her  again?  It 
almost  seemed  as  if  she  would.  At  any  rate,  if  she 
should  somehow  fail,  during  the  voyage,  to  win  Miss 
Melendy's  good  will,  it  might  be,  —  nay,  it  must  be  that 
the  girl's  distrust  of  her  would  haunt  her  long,  perhaps 
always.  Perhaps  the  struggle  to  win  her  good  opinion  was 
to  be  her  particular  form  of  enduring  hardness.  If  so,  she 
was  ready  for  the  struggle.  But,  oh,  what  if  to  strive  for  it 
and  not  to  win,  always  to  bear  the  consciousness  of  defeat, 
would  be  her  far  harder  burden  to  endure  ? 


288  FIREWEED 

Thus  she  communed  with  herself  as  she  sat  silently 
by  Miss  Lancaster  for  the  greater  part  of  the  drive  from 
Pompeii,  which  was  picturesque  and  interesting  despite 
the  heat  and  the  volcanic  dust.  The  colors  of  earth,  bay 
and  sky  were  dazzling;  luxurious  groves  and  countryside 
alternated  with  desolation;  architectural  splendor  with 
squalor.  The  big  car  was  comfortable  and  the  motion 
grateful,  moreover,  after  the  enforced  economy  of  the 
past  weeks  since  gold  had  been  at  a  premium  and  money 
impossible  or  very  difficult  to  draw. 

Erica  caught  fragments  of  the  talk  of  others :  Dr.  Bur- 
gess and  Cotton  discussing  Pliny  and  his  curiously  modern 
scientific  ardor ;  Miss  Budd  and  Maude  Griffiths  weighing 
the  claims  of  cameos  against  those  of  coral  roses;  Mrs. 
Miles  wondering  what  would  happen  if  they  were  chased 
by  a  boat  hostile  to  England  after  they  got  into  the  open 
ocean;  Miss  Williams  suggesting  that  there  might  be 
gates  at  Gibraltar  like  those  of  the  Panama  Canal  that 
might  be  closed  behind  them;  and  Miss  Little  laughing 
hysterically  and  calling  upon  the  others  to  listen  to  that. 
Only  Miss  Lancaster  sat  dumbly  at  her  side. 

Erica  called  her  attention  to  Vesuvius,  looking  gentle 
and  tame  with  its  airy  little  canopy  of  smoke. 

"  You'd  hardly  believe  it  capable  of  wreaking  such 
desolation  as  we  saw,  would  you,  Libby !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  shall  never  again  believe  anything  is  what  it  looks," 
growled  Miss  Lancaster. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  you've  got  to  go  home  without 
seeing  the  Sistine  Madonna,"  said  Erica  gently,  believing 
her  disappointment  weighed  upon  her. 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  jar  me,"  returned  Miss  Lancaster 
lugubriously,  too  low-spirited  to  choose  her  words  with 
her  usual  care,  "  nor  yet  Venice  nor  Berlin." 

"  You'll  be  relieved  to  be  on  the  boat  and  facing  the 
Goddess  of  Liberty  ?  "  Erica  queried  smiling. 


FIREWEED  289 

"  I  shall  be  thankful  to  drop  into  my  berth,  and  I 
shouldn't  mind  staying  there  for  two  weeks,"  declared 
Miss  Lancaster,  adjusting  her  ecru  motoring  veil. 

Erica  gazed  at  her  with  sudden  anxiety.  Did  she  really 
look  an  ashen  hue,  or  was  it  the  volcanic  dust  and  the 
yellow  in  her  veil  ? 

"  What  is  it,  Libby  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  Do  you  feel 
nervous?  Are  you  afraid  the  boat  won't  sail  and  we'll 
be  hung  up  here  all  winter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Erica,  don't  jest  about  any  such  thing !  "  pro- 
tested Miss  Lancaster  fearfully. 

"  Libby !  you  don't  feel  ill  ? "  Erica  cried  with  such 
genuine  concern  that  Miss  Lancaster  herself  was  seized 
with  violent  self  pity. 

Tears  filled  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  know.  Erica,"  she  re- 
plied. "  I  suppose  it's  only  the  excitement  and  worry- 
ing. And  it  was  suffocatingly  hot  down  there.  I  wish 
I  hadn't  come.  I  wish  I  had  gone  shopping  with  Miss 
Melendy.     She  asked  me  to  go  along." 

Somehow,  the  tears  in  the  faded  eyes  touched  Erica 
deeply.  She  was  overwhelmed  by  the  flood  of  self-re- 
proach that  swept  over  her  with  the  pity. 

"  As  soon  as  we  get  back  to  the  hotel,  you  shall  go 
right  to  bed,  Libby,"  she  assured  her  warmly.  "  And 
I'll  have  our  dinner  brought  up  and  we'll  eat  it  quietly 
together,  and  I'll  wait  on  you." 

"  I  don't  want  any  supper,"  Miss  Lancaster  almost 
wailed.  "  All  I  want  is  to  get  into  bed.  And  perhaps 
if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  stay  there  all  day  to-morrow  and 
only  get  up  in  time  for  the  boat  next  day.  The  packing 
is  all  done  except  for  the  last  things." 

"  You  shall  do  just  as  you  like,  Libby.  But  after  a 
good  night's  sleep,  you  may  feel  better  and  want  to  shop 
before  we  get  where  we  won't  see  a  shop  for  a  fortnight." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

"Well,  it  certainly  seemed  as  if  things  were  dreary 
enough  before  without  this  happening,"  Miss  Budd  re- 
marked in  a  pleasant  voice  that  might  have  led  one  unac- 
quainted with  the  English  language  to  think  she  was 
talking  about  spring  flowers  or  summer  breezes. 

Miss  Melendy,  who  had  come  in  late  and  reached  the 
table  just  as  the  soup  was  removed,  looked  about  in- 
quiringly. 

"  What's  up,  Buddy  ?  "  she  asked.  Then,  realizing  her 
glance  hadn't  encountered  Mrs.  Manners  or  her  com- 
panion, she  spoke  with  real  concern :  "  Miss  Lancaster 
isn't  ill?" 

"  My  dear  Hank,"  said  Mrs,  Miles  impressively  before 
Miss  Budd  could  choose  her  words,  "  she's  gone  to  the 
hospital !  " 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike !  " 

**  In  an  ambulance,"  added  Miss  Williams.  "  Oh, 
Hank,  dear,  I  am  glad  you  were  spared  the  sight.  All 
our  hearts  were  in  our  mouths." 

"  How  many  apiece,  —  in  the  interests  of  anatomy  ?  " 
Hank  couldn't  forbear  inquiring.  Then  her  face  sobered. 
"But  my  goodness,  how  about  to-morrow?" 

"  All  up,"  said  Mary  Little.  And  Miss  Cameron,  who 
sat  next  to  Miss  Melendy,  explained  the  situation. 

As  Hank  had  known.  Miss  Lancaster  had  remained  in 
bed  since  she  had  taken  to  it  directly  after  her  return 
from  Pompeii  the  day  before,  refusing  all  food.  At 
luncheon  time  she  had  seemed  really  ill,  and  Mrs.  Man- 

290 


FIREWEED  291 

ners,  who  had  been  with  her  continually,  had  consulted 
Mrs.  Cross,  the  English  wife  of  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel,  and  sent  for  an  English  physician.  Dr.  Page  had 
pronounced  it  a  fever,  apprehending  it  might  be  typhus. 
He  had  gone  to  the  steamship  authorities  with  Dr.  Bur- 
gess, but  they  had  refused  to  allow  Miss  Lancaster  to  be 
brought  on  board  the  Apulia.  The  only  thing  to  be  done, 
therefore,  had  been  to  send  her  to  the  English  hospital  on 
whose  staff  Dr.  Page  served,  and  she  had  been  taken  there 
an  hour  or  nwre  earlier  in  an  almost  unconscious  condi- 
tion. 

The  doctor,  a  gentleman  and  a  physician  of  experience, 
had  promised  to  be  a  friend  and  counselor  to  Miss  Lan- 
caster as  well  as  to  look  after  her  professionally ;  and  Mrs. 
Cross  would  keep  constantly  in  touch  with  the  hospital, 
visit  Miss  Lancaster  as  soon  as  it  should  be  allowed, 
bring  her  back  to  the  hotel  as  soon  as  she  could  be  moved 
and  keep  her  until  she  should  be  ready  to  return  to  Amer- 
ica. And  now  Mrs.  Manners  had  gone  to  see  the  wife 
of  the  American  consul,  friends  of  whom  she  knew  well, 
to  enlist  her  interest. 

Miss  Cameron  closed  by  saying  that  Dr.  Burgess  had 
told  her  in  confidence  that  Mrs.  Manners  had  been  more 
than  liberal  in  making  financial  arrangements,  —  she  had 
been  lavish  to  an  extreme.  Just  as  Miss  Melendy  had 
rejoined  in  a  low  tone  that  she  could  hardly  have  done  less 
under  the  circumstances,  Mrs.  Manners  herself  entered 
and  dropped  into  her  place  beside  Miss  Little.  She  looked 
pale  and  tired,  but  smiled  at  Dr.  Burgess  as  she  an- 
nounced :  "  It's  all  right,  Doctor.  She's  a  perfect  brick. 
She  and  her  friends  will  adopt  Miss  Lancaster  from  the 
moment  the  boat  sails,  and  the  consul  will  do  everything  in 
the  official  line.     I'm  tremendously  relieved." 

"  And  well  you  may  be,"  he  said  kindly.  He  had 
grown  fond  of  Mrs.  Manners,  like  almost  everyone  else 


292  FIREWEED 

in  the  group.  "  It's  marvelous  what  you  have  put  through 
since  two  o'clock." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  And  we  don't  sail  until  two  to-mor- 
row ! "  cried  Miss  Williams  in  her  most  startled  fashion. 
"  Why,  there's  time  for  every  one  of  us  to  get  carried  to 
the  hospital  by  that  time.  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  nothing  has 
happened  to  Mr.  Cotton.  Does  anyone  know  where  he 
is?  Wouldn't  it  be  simply  terrible  to  have  to  go  off  and 
leave  him  here  ?  " 

"  Cotton's  right  as  rain.  Miss  Williams,"  said  Dr.  Bur- 
gess quickly,  smiling  at  Nancy.  "  He's  gone  on  the  Apu- 
lia to  look  her  over,  and  he  doesn't  know  how  to  do  any- 
thing superficially,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  why  shouldn't  we  all  go  on  board  to- 
night?"  asked  Mrs.  Miles,  "  so  as  to  be  sure  of  being  there 
and  avoid  accidents.  If  any  one  should  break  an  ankle, 
say  —  " 

"  I  should  worry,"  murmured  Miss  Melendy. 

"I  confess,  I  shall  be  more  than  thankful  to  feel  the 
paddles  revolve,"  admitted  Maude  Griffiths.  "  I  can't 
help  thinking,  suppose  Italy  should  declare  war  to-mor- 
row? You  know  they  are  holding  all  night  sessions  of 
parliament  at  Rome.  And  I  do  so  want  to  get  back  to  De- 
troit to  start  my  Latin  classes  myself.  What  would  hap- 
pen, doctor,  if  Italy  went  in  before  two  to-morrow  ?  " 

"It  would  depend  on  which  side  she  espouses,  Miss 
Griffiths.  If  she  should  declare  for  her  fellows  of  the 
Triple  Alliance,  the  Apulia,  becoming  by  that  act  the  ves- 
sel of  an  hostile  nation,  would  be  interned  during  the 
war." 

"  And  we-all  with  it !  "  cried  Mrs.  Miles  in  distress. 

"  As  it  is,  I  suppose  Miles  is  just  tearing  his  hair.  For 
my  part,  I  wish  we  could  not  only  go  aboard  to-night,  but 
steal  away  under  cover  of  darkness." 

"  But  Cousin  Annabel,"  protested  Miss  Budd  in  her 


FIREWEED  293 

placid  way,  as  if  refusing  a  child  a  third  helping  of  jam, 
"they  couldn't  do  that,  you  know,  it  wouldn't  be  fair,  for 
someone  outside  of  Naples  who  has  a  ticket  might  be  left 
behind.  And  anyhow,  if  Italy  went  in  against  England, 
why  couldn't  we  sail  on  a  German  or  Austrian  boat  ?  " 

"  How  about  Gibraltar  ? "  demanded  Miss  Melendy. 
"  I  see  England  letting  Germany  or  Austria  through  her 
stone  jaws,  even  if  they  carried  we-all  for  cargo,  without 
snapping  them  up." 

"  Pappy  says  the  Italians  will  never  fight  on  the  side  of 
the  Austrians  because  the  Austrians  were  such  fright- 
fully cruel  enemies  to  them  years  ago,"  said  Nancy. 

"  There's  a  great  deal  in  that,"  acknowledged  Dr.  Bur- 
gess. "The  fathers  of  the  soldiers  of  to-day  remember 
i860  and  their  fathers'  tales  of  '48.  Mr.  Cotton  and  I 
heard  some  young  fellows  say  that  if  they  should  be 
placed  in  a  company  to  fight  with  the  Austrians,  they 
would  shoot  them  in  the  back.  And  I  don't  doubt  they 
would.  But  I  believe  Italy  will  withdraw  from  the  Triple 
Alliance.    England  has  been  her  true  friend." 

Mention  was  made  of  Gladstone  and  Garibaldi.  Dr. 
Burgess  spoke  of  Cavour  and  the  Crimea ;  but  Cotton  be- 
ing absent,  no  one  else  could  follow  that  topic  further, 
and  the  subject  was  changed. 

Miss  Little  asked  if  there  were  tidings  of  the  Tennessee, 
the  American  battleship  which  had  been  sent  by  the  gov- 
ernment with  a  large  amount  of  gold  to  the  aid  of  its 
citizens  abroad. 

"  She  is  said  to  have  reached  Falmouth,"  Dr.  Burgess 
replied.  "Of  course,  if  the  worst  came,  she  or  a  sister 
ship  could  call  here  for  us  when  our  turn  came." 

"Ah!  but  when  would  that  be?"  cried  Miss  Cameron, 
whose  work  called  her  imperatively.  "They  say  there 
are  50,000  Americans  in  Europe.  I  wonder  how  many 
there  are  in  Italy  ?  " 


294  FIREWEED 

"  Enough  to  make  a  good  many  boatloads  before  they 
could  land  us  all  in  the  good  old  U.  S.  A."  declared  Miss 
Melendy.  "  Miss  Lancaster  would  be  well  again  and 
ready  to  go  with  us  before  it  would  be  our  turn." 

Mrs.  Manners,  leaving  the  table  to  finish  her  packing, 
caught  these  last  words  as  she  went.  It  was  thoughf  ul  of 
Miss  Melendy,  she  said  to  herself,  keeping  Libby  on  her 
mind  like  that,  when  she  was  nothing  to  her. 

Poor  Libby!  It  was  hard  lines  for  her,  mighty  hard. 
Of  course  she  would  have  the  best  of  care,  and  would  re- 
cover. She  was  seriously,  but  not  dangerously  ill.  But 
when  she  grew  better,  when  she  came  to  herself,  she 
would  find  herself  among  total  strangers,  and  would  learn 
that  they  had  all  gone  —  every  soul  that  she  knew  —  and 
she  was  alone.  It  would  be  a  shock,  indeed.  Poor  thing ! 
and  no  one  more  anxious  to  get  away  1 

She  set  to  work  vigorously.  Miss  Lancaster's  things 
were  to  be  put  in  order  and  her  own  packing  finished. 
When  she  had  despatched  all  this,  neatly  and  quickly,  con- 
sidering her  inexperience,  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Miss  Lancaster  to  leave  at  the  hospital  for  her 
when  she  should  come  to  herself.  Just  as  she  had  fin- 
ished it  and  stood  it  on  the  mantel.  Cotton  appeared. 

Half  an  hour  earlier,  immediately  upon  entering  the 
house,  he  had  sought  out  his  daughter.  Nancy  left  the 
little  group  that  were  talking  in  the  corridor  and  ran 
eagerly  to  him,  reminding  him,  as  she  did  daily,  of  the 
spirited  girl  she  had  been  before  they  had  moved  to  the 
East.    He  led  her  to  her  room. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,  honey,  if  you  think  you  could  get 
along  with  Mrs.  Miles  and  Miss  Melendy  on  the  trip 
home,  if  your  pappy  should  stay  on  in  Italy  for  a  spell  ?  " 
he  inquired  anxiously.  "  You  know  I  don't  quite  like  the 
idea  of  our  all  going  off  and  leaving  one  of  our  party  in  a 
strange  country  alone  and  out  of  her  head.     If  you  think 


FIREWEED  295 

you  could  make  shift,  Nanny  dear,  why,  I'll  just  wait 
over  a  few  steamers  and  look  out  for  her  and  then 
bring  her  back  when  the  proper  time  comes.  It  won't  be 
long." 

Nancy  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  pressed  her 
cheek  against  his. 

"  Oh,  pappy,  I  might  stay  too,"  she  coaxed. 

"  No,  honey,  I  couldn't  take  that  risk,"  he  said  firmly. 
"  You  might  get  the  fever,  and  all  sorts  of  other  complica- 
tions might  come  up.  Besides,  I  want  you  to  sort  of  keep 
Cousin  Abby  straight.  Her  aunt  will  want  to  be  getting 
back  to  Cherokee,  you  know." 

Nancy  sighed  deeply.  "  It  will  be  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  pappy,  if  we  are  separated,"  she  said,  and  hid  her  face 
on  his  shoulder  a  minute. 

Then  she  raised  it  and  smiled  bravely.  "  Of  course  I 
shall  be  all  right  with  Hank  and  Mrs.  Miles,"  she  said. 
"  But  you'll  be  very,  very  careful  not  to  get  the  fever  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "You  know  well  enough,  honey,  that  I 
never  '  cotch '  anything  unless  long  legs  do  the  act.  And 
they,  let  me  tell  you  Miss  Cotton,  will  fetch  me  right 
lively  to  the  first  steamer  sailing  after  Miss  Lancaster 
recovers.  Like  as  not,  I  shall  hurry  the  poor  thing  in  my 
zeal." 

He  slipped  out  quickly.  His  life  had  not  been  easy,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  nothing  had  ever  been  so  hard  as  the 
situation  he  faced.  He  was  confronting  separation  from 
Nancy,  who  was  the  very  apple  of  his  eye.  He  was  to 
remain  in  the  city  he  "  took  to  "  least  of  any  he  had  seen, 
to  protect  a  woman  who  was  almost  the  only  human  be- 
ing towards  whom  he  had  ever  felt  a  positive  personal 
antipathy ;  always  with  the  thought  of  his  frail  child  ex- 
posed to  the  extraordinary  peril  of  the  seas  in  time  of 
war,  going  farther  and  farther  from  him  until  she  should 
be  three  thousand  miles  distant.     And  no  one  knew  at 


296  FIREWEED 

this  moment  whether  or  not  there  was  cable  connection 
with  America. 

He  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Miles  and  laid  the  question 
before  her.  She  protested  but  finally  agreed  to  do  her 
part.  He  felt  his  task  would  be  harder  with  Miss  Me- 
lendy  and  so  it  proved. 

"  But  Mr.  Cotton ! "  she  cried,  "  Mrs.  Manners  is  an 
experienced  traveler,  and  —  it's  up  to  her.  If  any  one 
is  to  stay  with  Miss  Lancaster,  why  shouldn't  it  be 
she?" 

Why  not,  indeed?  Cotton  rose,  then  sat  down  again. 
There  was  scarcely  room  in  the  tiny  reception  room  to 
turn  around.  He  felt  for  his  Panama  hat  which  he  had 
left  in  Nancy's  room,  then  domed  his  fingers  and  stared 
at  them. 

Though  he  felt  the  force  of  Miss  Melendy's  argument, 
he  exonerated  Mrs.  Manners  fully  in  his  heart.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  Mrs.  Manners  had  accomplished  al- 
most a  miracle.  She  had,  he  believed,  truly  made  her- 
self over.  But  in  so  doing,  she  had,  of  necessity,  left  Miss 
Lancaster  far  behind;  and  he  couldn't  help  feeling  that 
the  latter  must  have  become  repugnant  to  her.  Why, 
then,  should  she  remain  by  her  side  now,  and  perhaps  get 
the  fever  herself?  He  shrank  from  the  idea  of  her 
making  such  a  sacrifice  and  felt  that  it  was  better  that  it 
shouldn't  have  occurred  to  her. 

Presently  he  turned  to  Miss  Melendy. 

"  Somehow,  it  seems  a  man's  place,"  he  said  simply. 
**  Doctor  would  do  it,  you  know,  only  it's  up  to  him  to  see 
his  party  through  to  the  end  of  the  journey.  On  the 
whole,  I  seem  just  the  peg  to  fit  the  hole,  Miss  Melendy." 

He  spoke  in  a  light,  genial  way  as  if  it  were  a  question, 
say,  of  some  one  in  a  returning  picnic  party  lagging  be- 
hind the  others  to  accommodate  a  lame  member.  But  his 
face  told  another  story.     One  far  less  keen  and  far  less 


FIREWEED  297 

concerned  than  Miss  Melendy  must  have  seen  something 
of  what  it  meant  to  the  man. 

For  a  little  the  girl  gazed  at  him.  Then  she  sprang  to 
her  feet  impulsively.  But  he  rose,  too,  and  towered  so 
far  above  her  that  she  begged  him  to  sit  down  and  dropped 
back  into  her  own  chair  rather  weakly. 

"  Listen,"  she  said.  "  Fm  going  to  stay  with  Miss  Lan- 
caster myself,  Mr.  Cotton.  There  isn't  a  single  member 
of  the  party  except  Mrs.  Manners  who  could  do  it  so  well 
and  easily  as  L  I  am  wholly  disengaged,  you  see.  I 
couldn't  be  with  dad,  anyhow.  It  wouldn't  pay  to  go  way 
out  West  and  back  again,  and  Fd  as  leave  wait  here  for 
Miss  Lancaster  as  hang  around  in  the  East  waiting  for 
medical  school  to  open.  You  know  I  loathe  visiting.  And 
besides.  Miss  Lancaster  rather  likes  me.  Honestly,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  she  would  prefer  me  to  Mrs.  Man- 
ners. And  I  don't  mind  her,  while  you  —  don't  tell  me, 
sir!  Fve  seen  through  you  long  since.  You  simply 
can't  abide  Miss  Lancaster !  " 

"  But  you  see  I'm  powerfully  sorry  for  her  just  now," 
he  said  ingenuously,  "  and  I've  noticed  that  if  I  get  to 
feeling  so,  it's  quite  fatal  to  any  feeling  of  dislike." 

"  Well,  you  won't  have  a  chance  for  this  to  change  to  a 
liking,  for  you're  off,  sir,  on  the  Apulia  to-morrow !  " 

The  look  in  his  eyes !  That  look  of  frank,  simple  ad- 
miration, which  might  have  reminded  a  third  person  of  the 
old  Greek  custom  of  exchange  of  noble  gifts  between 
heroes,  would  have  more  than  compensated  Miss  Melendy 
for  a  greater  sacrifice.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  He  would 
not  allow  her  to  make  it.  He  praised  her  warmly,  shame- 
lessly, for  her  generosity,  but  he  would  not  yield  to  her. 

There  wasn't  much  use  in  reiterating  that  it  was  a  man's 
job,  for  Hank  took  naturally  to  a  man's  job.  But  the 
girl  couldn't  deny  that  he  was  older,  more  experienced 
in  putting  things  through,  and  that  he  had  the  further  ad- 


298  FIREWEED 

vantage  of  being  a  man,  so  that  the  job  fell  to  him  natu- 
rally without  any  of  the  friction  which  she,  with  the  best 
will  in  the  world,  must  encounter  constantly. 

He  had  won  his  point,  and  they  were  talking  quietly, 
when  a  group  of  the  school  girls  who  were  to  be  com- 
panions of  the  Burgess  party  on  the  Apulia  came  in. 
Hank  fled  to  her  room  to  give  way  to  the  tears  that  choked 
her.  Cotton  paused  to  chat  with  the  girls,  then  went  on 
to  see  Mrs.  Manners.  He  did  not  falter,  though  by  this 
time  he  was  distinctly  weary. 

This  was  his  last  task  for  the  evening,  however,  and 
he  didn't  force  himself  to  introduce  the  subject  at  once. 
He  dropped  into  the  easy  chair  she  pointed  out,  and 
listened  while  she  talked,  —  listened  and  looked.  He  for- 
got other  things,  for  the  nonce,  forgot  even  his  daughter 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  parting  with  her  for  an  indefinite 
time,  as  the  realization  came  to  him  that  he  was  saying 
farewell  to  Mrs.  Manners  herself. 

There  was  a  permanency  in  this  parting  that  did  not 
belong  to  any  of  the  others.  After  she  sailed  on  the 
Apulia,  it  was  altogether  unlikely  that  they  should  ever 
meet  again  in  an  entirely  informal  and  friendly  way. 
Back  in  America,  there  would  always  be  something  be- 
tween them.  Their  names  had  been  so  publicly  associ- 
ated in  the  city  where  they  lived  that  neither  could  ever 
be  so  unconscious  of  the  barrier  as  to  be  simple  and  nat- 
ural. 

And  somehow,  they  had  become  friends.  He  had 
hardly  realized  it ;  he  hadn't  thought  of  it  in  that  light,  but 
they  had  become  good  friends.  And  he  should  miss  her. 
He  should  miss  her  sadly. 

His  eyes  wandered  about  the  room.  He  saw  her 
trunks  ready  to  be  taken  to  the  boat  in  the  morning; 
the  books,  baskets  and  stores  she  had  ready  for  the  voy- 
age ;  the  letter  she  had  written,  conspicuous  on  the  mantel. 


FIREWEED  299 

Then  his  eyes  returned  to  her  and  rested  on  the  slender, 
girlish  figure  in  white,  gracefully  listless  against  the  big, 
enveloping  chair,  with  the  soft  gleam  on  her  pretty  hair 
and  the  pensive  shadow  on  her  small,  wistful,  and  to 
him  at  that  moment  strangely  sweet  face. 

Erica  was  talking  rather  faster  than  usual.  She  hardly 
knew  what  she  was  saying,  for  Cotton  was  not  paying 
her  his  wonted  scrupulous  attention,  though  his  inatten- 
tion—  it  hardly  amounted  to  that  —  was  somehow  not 
unflattering  nor  uncomfortable.  And  it  wasn't  because 
of  it  that  she  stopped  suddenly. 

A  pause  fell  between  them.  Cotton  knew  that  it  was 
his  chance  to  announce  his  plan.  He  raised  his  eyes  and 
smiled.  But  she  spoke  first.  And  her  words  surprised 
herself  almost  as  much  as  they  amazed  him. 

All  the  while  Erica  had  talked  so  glibly,  she  had  been 
conscious  of  his  face,  his  w-eary,  lined  face  with  its  wealth 
of  kindness  and  gentleness  and  simple  faith.  And  when 
she  had  suddenly  ceased,  it  had  seemed  to  be  only  because 
she  was  abashed  by  his  goodness. 

Erica  Manners  loved  the  man  before  her  with  the  inten- 
sity of  a  passion  that,  awakening  late,  had  gathered  to 
itself  all  the  hitherto  scattered  streams  of  thought  and 
life  and  feeling,  merging  them  into  a  strong  river  that  had 
the  potentialities  of  a  torrent.  All  her  life,  she  had  had 
her  will.  Now,  absolutely  hopeless  of  any  return  of  her 
love,  she  craved  even  crumbs :  —  to  be  near  him,  to  hear 
him  speak,  to  have  his  kind  glance  rest  upon  her  now  and 
then,  to  listen  to  his  quaint,  homely  wisdom.  She  had 
looked  forward  eagerly  to  the  journey  home.  Every 
purchase  she  had  made,  books,  tea,  biscuit,  a  little  alco- 
hol lamp,  had  contemplated  his  sharing.  It  would  have 
seemed  easier  to  die,  now  when  the  impulse  of  life  had 
never  seemed  so  strong,  than  that  he  should  cross  the 
water,  and  leave  her  here. 


300  FIREWEED 

If  he  had  not  come  to  her  with  that  weary  face?  Who 
knows!     But  somehow  it  seemed  as  if  that  wave  of  pity 

—  pity  passionate  as  love  but  more  unselfish  —  that 
surged  through  Erica  as  she  looked  into  that  homely, 
noble  face,  had  burned  away  the  remaining  dross  of  her 
selfishness.  How  gladly  would  she  have  flung  her  arms 
about  him!  How  she  would  have  liked,  above  all  other 
things,  to  have  had  him  rest  his  head  upon  her  breast. 
She  yearned  to  smooth  out  the  lines  in  his  brow,  to  stroke 
his  hair,  growing  thin  and  gray,  and  to  press  her  cheek 
against  his. 

Instead,  the  tribute  his  personality  demanded  of  her 
was  the  very  negation  of  all  this.  She  was  not  to  think 
of  the  crumbs  she  had  craved  and  had  been  grateful  for. 
Instead  of  striving  to  do  something  for  his  comfort,  of 
making  the  voyage  pleasant,  even  joyous  to  him,  she  must 

—  put  herself  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  smallest  serv- 
ice. The  homage  she  must  pay  him  was  simply  to  do 
her  duty,  her  plain,  bare,  prosaic,  commonplace,  disagree- 
able duty.  Her  heart  cried  out  against  it,  against  the  idea 
that  romantic,  passionate  love  should  command  her  to 
perform  a  duty  which  not  only  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  beloved,  but  which  should  separate  her  from  him  and 
the  ways  wherein  he  walked,  perhaps  forever. 

As  she  started  to  speak,  Erica  half  rose  in  an  instinc- 
tive motion  to  draw  her  chair  nearer  to  his.  With  his 
wonted  clearness  of  understanding,  he  accomplished  it 
for  her,  placing  it  close  to  his  own  but  turned  a  little  so 
that  they  could  look  into  one  another's  faces. 

"You  have  probably  noticed,  Mr.  Cotton,  that  I  am 
packed  and  ready,"  she  began.  "And  yet  —  after  all, 
I'm  not  going  on  the  Apulia  with  you  and  the  others.  I 
have  got  to  stay  here  with  Libby  Lancaster.  I  can't  go 
off  and  leave  her  here  alone.     Now,  can  I  ?  " 

"  Why  Mrs.  Manners,"  he  exclaimed,  too  taken  aback 
really  to  conceive  the  matter. 


FIREWEED  301 

"  I  ought  to  stay.     Don't  you  think  so?  "  she  asked. 

He  frowned  a  little. 

"  Why,  it's  hard  to  say  —  off  the  bat.  Someone  ought 
to.     But  isn't  it,  perhaps,  rather  a  man's  job?  " 

"  Not  in  this  instance,"  she  said  firmly.  "  If  I  had 
been  taken  ill,  there  would  have  been  no  question  of 
Libby's  staying  with  me.  I  brought  her  over  here,  and 
I'm  responsible  for  her.  If  anything  should  happen  to 
her,  how  should  I  ever  face  her  —  friends?" 

She  flushed.  "  No,  I  don't  mean  that.  Even  if  I  were 
assured  that  she  would  get  well  and  nothing  should  hap- 
pen, and  even  if  she  hadn't  any  family  or  friends,  I  should 
have  to  stay  with  her  just  the  same." 

"  You're  fond  of  her  ?  "  he  hazarded.  She  looked  into 
his  eyes. 

"  1  'm  used  to  her,  I  don't  believe  I  am  fond  of  her  — 
not  very.  I  am  really  under  obligation  to  her,  but  I  don't 
take  to  her.  However,  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  her  and 
I'll  be  good  to  her.     I'll  be  patience  itself." 

She  smiled,  rather  touchingly,  it  seemed  to  Cotton. 

"  Of  course  you  would,"  he  declared,  though  dear 
knows  he  had  reason  to  think  otherwise.  "  But  —  some- 
one else  might  do  as  well.  Someone  else  might  just 
stay  on  and  get  her  back  home  when  she  recovers.  You 
see,  Mrs.  Manners,  there  may  be  difficulties.  And  one 
would  have  to  reckon  with  the  possibility  of  having  to 
remain  all  winter  —  in  case,  you  know,  Italy  went  in  with 
the  Alliance.  I  don't  think,  myself,  however,  that  she 
will." 

At  that  Erica  paled  noticeably.  She  clasped  her  hands 
convulsively.     But  she  spoke  with  a  firm  voice. 

"  Even  so,  it's  up  to  me  —  to  no  one  else,"  she  assever- 
ated. "  I  shouldn't  have  chosen  it,  I  confess ;  but  I  sup- 
pose I  could  put  it  through  even  at  the  worst.  I  know 
how  to  travel  and  how  to  get  on  in  foreign  countries  and  I 


302  FIREWEED 

speak  French  and  Italian.  I  have  money  enough  and  to 
spare,  and  after  all,  there's  nothing  in  the  world  to  call 
me  home.  I  can't  do  otherwise  than  stay.  Please  tell 
me,  Mr.  Cotton,  if  that  isn't  the  way  it  looks  to  you." 

"  I  reckon  that's  about  as  it  is,"  he  admitted  regretfully. 
But  his  look  meant  volumes  and  Erica  hugged  it  to  her 
aching  heart. 

Her  eyes  fell  before  it,  but  presently  she  gazed  up  at 
him  through  downcast  lashes  as  if  endeavoring  to  grave 
his  face  upon  her  memory,  though  in  truth  it  had  been 
impressed  indelibly  there  this  many  a  day.  It  came  to 
her  that  on  the  morrow  at  this  hour  he  would  be  a  hun- 
dred miles  away  and  speeding  on  further.  And  she 
would  be  here  all  alone. 

She  rose  abruptly.  Going  to  the  casement,  she  looked 
out,  but  she  did  not  see  the  bay  nor  the  dim  shadow  of 
Vesuvius  against  the  dark,  starry  sky.  Returning,  she 
stood  with  her  arm  resting  on  the  mantel.  Cotton  waited, 
his  hand  on  the  door. 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  go,"  she  faltered.  "  I  hate  to 
stay  behind.     Oh  Mr.  Cotton,  I  hate  to  like  — hell!" 

He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant.  He  reached  out  his 
hand  —  a  big,  brown  cavern  of  a  hand  for  her  little  white 
one,  and  when  she  gave  it  gratefully,  covered  it  with  both 
his. 

"  But  Fm  glad  at  the  same  time,"  she  said,  smiling 
through  tears.  "  I'm  glad  to  do  it  because  it  is  hard  — 
once  in  a  lifetime." 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

Inquiry  being  made  at  breakfast  for  Cotton,  Dr.  Bur- 
gess explained  that  he  had  gone  down  to  the  boat  again 
about  midnight  and  returning  at  dawn  had  been  compelled 
by  Miss  Nancy  to  lie  down  and  have  a  late  breakfast. 

"  The  Apulia's  a  staunch  craft,  he  reports,  and  our 
quarters  very  comfortable,"  he  added.  "They  were  se- 
lected, you  see,  by  wealthy  parents  for  their  daughters. 
Poor  girls !  I  hope  they'll  be  able  to  get  to  England  and 
get  home  that  way." 

"  It's  just  like  Mr.  Cotton,  taking  all  that  trouble, 
isn't  it ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Williams,  taking  off  her  spec- 
tacles to  wipe  her  eyes,  then  prudently  improving  the  oc- 
casion by  polishing  the  lenses. 

"  And  isn't  it  like  him  to  stay  over  here  to  guard  Miss 
Lancaster !  "  cried  Miss  Melendy. 

"  Why,  Hank !  "  cried  Miss  Williams,  Miss  Little  and 
Miss  Griffiths  all  together. 

"  Surely,  you  don't  mean  it.  Hank  ? "  Miss  Cameron 
asked  anxiously. 

Miss  Melendy  repeated  the  statement  and  Mrs.  Miles 
confirmed  it. 

"  But  how  about  Mrs.  Manners?"  Miss  Little  inquired. 

Hank  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  She's  sailing  with  us," 
she  said. 

The  proprietor  of  the  hotel  had  engaged  Dr.  Burgess  in 
conversation,  but  he  heard  just  enough  of  what  was  going 
on  around  the  table  to  be  exceedingly  ill  at  ease. 

303 


304  FIREWEED 

"  One  would  almost  think "  —  Miss  Cameron  began, 
but  checked  herself. 

"  It  was  up  to  her  ?  "  Hank  completed.    "  Rather ! " 

"  Dear  me,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  protested  Mrs. 
Miles.  "  I'm  sure  I  should  be  at  my  wit's  end  to  be  over 
here  all  alone  except  for  a  sick  person  out  of  her  head.  I 
shouldn't  dare  to  do  it,  and  I  presume  Mrs.  Manners 
feels  just  the  same.  But,  oh  dear  me,  I  can't  bear  the 
thought  of  going  without  Mr.  Cotton.  Suppose  we  all 
wait?" 

Dr.  Burgess,  released  just  in  time  to  hear  this  wish, 
groaned  aloud. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Miles,  if  you  knew  half  that  I  have  been 
through  to  get  this  party  out  and  off,  and  how  I  long  to 
have  you  all  safely  on  board  before  anything  else  happens, 
you  wouldn't  make  any  such  proposal.  It  fairly  makes 
my  hair  stand  on  end ! " 

He  smiled  and  added :  "  And  anyhow,  we  aren't  to  lose 
Mr.  Cotton  after  all.  Mrs.  Manners  herself  is  to  remain 
with  Miss  Lancaster." 

The  murmur  that  rose  was  as  a  sort  of  refrain  for 
Mrs.  Miles's  "  Now  I  consider  that  right  sweet  of  Mrs. 
Manners ! " 

As  for  Miss  Melendy,  she  seemed  to  be  gasping  for 
breath.  Mrs.  Manners  hadn't  accepted  Mr.  Cotton's 
sacrifice.  Rather  than  do  so,  she  was  remaining  here 
herself.  It  didn't  seem  possible.  Under  cover  of  the 
buzz  of  conversation  about  her,  the  girl  fell  into  a  brown 
study.  She  couldn't  understand  it,  —  that  Mrs.  Man- 
ners should  separate  herself  deliberately,  for  an  indefinite 
period  of  time,  from  Mr.  Cotton ;  —  that  she,  who  hardly 
could  allow  him  out  of  her  sight,  should  suffer  the 
breadth  of  the  war-time  seas  between  them.  What  did 
it  mean?  Was  she  hauling  in  the  nets  she  had  spread? 
Had  she  learned  that  all  her  springes   were  in   vain? 


FIREWEED  305 

Surely  nothing  less  critical  could  have  induced  her  so  to 
act.    And  yet  — 

She  was  recalled  by  hearing  Nancy's  name.  Maude 
Griffiths  was  saying  something  about  the  relief  it  would 
be  to  her. 

Hank  knew  it  would  indeed  be  great.  She  tried  not 
to  think  what  it  would  mean  to  herself.  And  Nancy  was 
such  a  changed  creature,  such  a  charmingly  sprightly 
young  thing  that  she  didn't  even  regret  one  particular 
plan  that  would  be  called  off.  When  Cotton  had  spoken 
the  night  before  of  having  Nancy  met  in  New  York,  she 
had  casually  suggested  Stokes.  He  had  agreed  and  had 
sent  a  cable  to  that  effect  which  had  seemed  to  go  through. 
Well,  there  was  no  need,  after  all,  of  forcing  things. 
There  would  be  time  and  occasion  for  everything  to  work 
out  naturally,  she  felt  sure.  And  the  more  so  with  Mrs. 
Manners  (Hank  had  almost  said  "  poor  Mrs.  Manners ! ") 
shut  up  in  Italy. 

"We  certainly  need  Mr.  Cotton  almost  as  much  as 
Nancy  does  to  cheer  us  in  parting  with  the  dust  and  fleas 
and  cripples  of  Naples,"  Miss  Little  declared.  "  Gra- 
cious heavens!  I  believe  every  solitary  cripple  in  Italy 
gravitates  right  here.  There's  one  at  every  comer  and 
one  between  comers,  and  one  at  the  top,  bottom  and  land- 
ing of  every  flight  of  steps,  and,  dear  knows,  stairs  are 
legion  in  Naples." 

"  Well,  Mary,  I  confess  that  I  shall  miss  the  goats  go- 
ing by  my  window  early  in  the  morning.  They  are  such 
pretty  creatures,"  murmured  Maude  Griffiths,  who  was 
a  pretty  creature  herself,  in  her  pongee  frock  with  her 
hair  curling  round  her  pink  little  face. 

"  And  the  goat-herd.  Has  anyone  noticed  how  un- 
usual he  is?  "  added  Mary  Little. 

"  Rather  a  swell  for  that  job,  it  struck  me,"  Hank  de- 
clared. 


3o6  FIREWEED 

"  Yes,  he  really  is  above  it,"  asseverated  Mary  seriously. 
"  He  has  a  simply  magnificent  tenor  voice,  —  no,  I  be- 
lieve it's  barytone.  Yes,  I'm  sure  it  is.  Haven't  you  all 
heard  snatches  of  opera  as  he  came  over  the  hill  ?  " 

"  He  sang  '  Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay '  for  the  Wards,  be- 
lieving it  to  be  the  British  national  anthem,"  chuckled  Dr. 
Burgess. 

"  Just  as  the  kids  on  the  street  expect  coppers  when 
they  say  '  Skidoo  *  to  an  American,"  said  Hank.  "  They 
seem  to  think  it's  a  general  hail-and-farewell  and  univer- 
sal password." 

"  It'll  be  nice  to  get  where  passwords  aren't  neces- 
sary," remarked  Mrs.  Miles  rather  dolefully.  Miss  Wil- 
liams prevented  any  one  from  echoing  that  sentiment  by 
rising  so  suddenly  from  her  place  that  she  startled  the 
whole  group,  all  of  whose  nerves  were  a  bit  shaky.  They 
saw  that  Mrs.  Manners  had  come  in. 

They  crowded  about  her,  heaping  praises  upon  her  for 
her  devotion  and  courage,  assuring  her  how  sadly  they 
should  miss  her.  But  somehow,  Erica  seemed  to  have  lost 
her  appetite  for  flattery  and  even  for  praise.  She  tried  to 
take  an  interest  in  their  various  preoccupations  for  the 
morning,  but  she  couldn't  even  do  that.  She  felt  cold 
and  numb.  Unconsciously,  she  was  keeping  on  the  sur- 
face lest  she  go  too  far  beneath  the  crust. 

The  others  scattered.  After  a  cup  of  coffee,  Erica 
drove  to  the  hospital.  Miss  Lancaster  was  no  better,  nor 
yet  any  worse. 

Cotton,  it  seemed,  had  been  there  already  to  inquire. 
He  would,  she  knew  now,  spend  his  day  going  about  on 
her  business,  striving  to  leave  everything  as  comfortable 
for  her  as  might  be.  He  would  probably  be  with  the 
consul  now.  Of  course,  being  himself,  he  couldn't  do 
otherwise.  But,  oh,  Erica  wished  he  would  just  let  things 
go  hang  and  spend  the  same  amount  of  time  with  her ! 


FIREWEED  307 

She  needed  and  wanted  moral  stiffening  so  sadly,  —  more 
than  anything  else.  And  she  so  wanted  it  for  memory,  a 
quiet  hour  with  him. 

From  the  hospital  she  drove  down  into  the  city,  where 
she  purchased  charming  baskets  of  fruit,  one  for  each  of 
those  going  on  the  Apulia,  and  sent  them  aboard.  There 
were  oranges  on  sprays  of  waxy  leaves,  Hamburg  grapes 
of  immense  size  and  wonderful  color,  purple  and  green 
figs,  and  a  nosegay  of  flowers  in  each.  Prices  had 
doubled  and  quadrupled,  but  she  did  not  mind  emptying 
her  portemonnaie.  When  she  returned  to  the  hotel,  Cot- 
ton was  still  abroad. 

Her  window  overlooked  the  entrance  and  the  approach 
to  the  hotel.  At  luncheon  time  he  was  still  away.  She 
went  absently  out.  It  was  a  hurried  meal,  for  the  party 
were  to  be  driven  to  the  boat  directly  afterwards  though 
the  hour  of  sailing  had  been  postponed.  Because  of  this, 
nerves  were  at  high  tension,  every  one  doubting  that  they 
would  get  away  at  all.  The  arrival  at  the  hotel  of  guests 
who  had  had  harrowing  experiences  and  seen  terrible 
sights  coming  from  the  North,  and  who  were  frantically 
anxious  to  get  passage  for  America,  added  to  the  sense 
of  uncertainty  and  peril. 

Erica  heard  the  discussion  vaguely,  conscious,  however, 
that  it  would  all  come  back  to  her  clearly  to  harass  her 
mind  when  she  should  be  alone.  Nevertheless  it  wasn't 
that  that  made  her  so  white  and  wretched.  It  was  dis- 
may, utter  discouragement,  that  seized  upon  her  as  she 
heard  Cotton,  who  came  in  late,  explain  that  directly  he 
had  had  a  bite  of  luncheon,  he  must  return  to  the  consu- 
late. He  would  meet  them  at  the  boat  in  good  time,  how- 
ever, for  there  were  at  least  two  hours  extra,  and  might 
be  double  as  many. 

He  smiled  kindly  across  at  Erica  as  he  sat  down,  and 
immediately  turned  the  conversation  away  from  the  hor- 


3o8  FIREWEED 

rors  of  war,  evidently  with  her  in  mind.  But  he  hadn't 
apparently  any  intention  of  saving  time  for  anything  more 
than  an  hurried  farewell. 

She  was  to  see  the  others  off.  She  had  agreed  to  fol- 
low them  in  time  to  go  over  the  boat,  examine  their  quar- 
ters, and  inspect  the  various  possibilities  of  comfort  and 
amusement.  She  wondered  if  Mr.  Cotton  expected  to 
see  her  only  at  that  crowded  moment.  But  she  decided 
to  wait  at  the  hotel  until  the  latest  possible  minute  in  case 
she  should  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  him  here,  and 
then,  failing  that,  to  make  the  most  of  the  chance  on 
the  boat. 

She  dressed  hastily,  donning  her  most  becoming  frock, 
the  embroidered  raw  silk  she  had  found  in  Paris.  She 
fastened  the  lace  collar  with  a  turquoise  matrix  set  in 
dull  gold  matching  the  buckle  of  the  girdle.  The  long, 
loose  cloak  of  the  same  material,  lined  with  turquoise 
blue  satin,  was  ready  on  the  couch,  with  hat,  gloves  and 
sunshade  to  match.  Ready  for  any  eventuality,  she  sat 
down  by  the  window  to  witness  the  departure  of  these 
folk  who  had  somehow,  singly  and  collectively,  crept 
into  her  heart  so  as  to  seem  already  old  familiar 
friends. 

The  row  of  empty  carriages  stood  for  some  time  before 
anyone  appeared.  Something  must  have  caused  a  delay. 
She  had  heard  Dr.  Burgess  say  that  they  should  not  start 
until  everyone  was  ready.  But  suddenly  the  little  group 
of  servants  straightened  themselves  expectantly,  and  she 
saw  that  they  were  coming.  And  despite  her  anxious 
preoccupation,  she  watched  their  movements  affection- 
ately. 

Dr.  Burgess  and  his  wife  advanced  to  the  first  carriage, 
the  lady  beamingly  happy,  even  at  this  distance,  in  the 
consciousness  that  she  should  have  ten  days  of  her  hus- 
band's almost  imdivided  attention  in  the  interval  before 


FIREWEED  309 

his  church  would  be  claiming  what  the  party  had  had. 
Erica  knew  she  would  be  gloating  over  the  fact  that  there 
were  no  galleries  nor  ruins  at  sea  —  not  even  an  excursion 
lasting  from  breakfast  to  luncheon.  She  could  sit  all 
day  beside  her  lord  in  the  steamer  chair. 

Miss  Cameron  and  Maude  Griffiths  followed,  their 
correct  (and  rather  pedagogical)  traveling  suits  complete, 
from  neat  little  veils  to  neat  spats,  their  faces  keen  with  in- 
telligence at  a  moment  when  every  one  else's  mind  seemed 
to  be  in  abeyance.  Miss  Cameron's  pupils  would  be  en- 
riched by  her  summer,  while  Maude  Griffiths  —  well,  a 
pretty,  sweet  creature  like  Maude  wouldn't  be  teaching 
when  she  reached  Miss  Cameron's  age. 

Miss  Little  kept  the  line  waiting  while  she  chattered 
her  mongrel  Italian  with  Fabriano,  her  waiter,  whom  she 
believed  to  be  inconsolable  at  her  departure.  Her  laugh- 
ter in  the  face  of  the  distressed  calls  of  the  others  that 
they  would  lose  the  boat,  her  high  color,  her  repeated  offer 
of  her  hand  to  the  astute  fellow  who  was  plainly  concerned 
only  over  the  size  of  his  fee,  —  all  this  must  have  dis- 
gusted Erica  once,  —  not  long  since.  To-day,  with  her 
vivid,  ever-present  consciousness  of  the  morrow's  loneli- 
ness, of  her  isolation  from  English-speaking  people  in  a 
beleaguered  land,  she  could  readily  fancy  herself  longing 
to  see  Mary  Little's  flushed  face  and  to  hear  her  gurgling 
laughter. 

The  gift  was  finally  forthcoming  and  seemingly  quite 
satisfactory.  Miss  Little  climbed  into  her  carriage  in 
which  she  rode  alone  in  order  to  accommodate  extra  lug- 
gage. Miss  Budd  and  Miss  Williams  came  next,  the 
former  looking  stouter  than  ever  in  her  bright  blue  figured 
foulard,  sitting  placidly  erect,  looking  out  over  her  capa- 
cious bosom  like  one  posted  behind  fortifications,  calmly 
content  as  ever  with  the  status  quo.  Miss  Williams,  at  her 
side,  was  as  birdlike  as  ever,  wiping  her  eyes,  polishing 


3IO  FIRE  WEED 

her  glasses,  and  making  little  quick  dabs  at  the  luggage 
to  see  that  it  was  safely  stored  and  all  there. 

Mrs.  Miles,  Miss  Melendy  and  Nancy  Cotton  brought 
up  the  rear.  Upon  every  line  of  Mrs.  Miles's  plump  face, 
with  its  flushed  apologetic  half -smile,  and  upon  every  de- 
tail of  her  ill-adjusted  clothing,  was  written  the  cause  of 
the  delay  of  the  party  in  setting  forth.  Erica  felt  sure 
that  there  were  buttons  missing  on  the  back  of  her  blouse 
which  the  faithful  Miss  Melendy  had  had  to  replace  with 
what  Mrs.  Miles  was  pleased  to  call  "  beauty  pins,"  that 
her  belt  had  refused  to  meet  and  had  required  splicing, 
and  that  the  wide  lace  collar  and  cuffs,  which  made  her 
face  look  fuller  and  redder  than  ever,  had  been  hastily 
pinned  on  the  jacket  of  the  smart  suit  she  had  purchased 
at  Florence. 

And  yet  —  there  it  was  again,  that  haunting  spectre 
of  loneliness! — who  was  so  faithful  and  so  genuinely 
kind  and  charitable  as  Mrs.  Miles?  She  would  always 
have  her  word  in  favor  of  the  absent  one,  would  always 
be  ready  to  listen  eagerly  to  the  most  trite  remarks  the 
stupidest  might  wish  to  relieve  their  minds  of.  She  would 
remain  imperturbably  good  natured  through  everything 
and  would  meet  her  Miles  on  the  opposite  side  with  all 
the  rapture  said  to  characterize  the  meeting  of  saints  on 
the  heavenly  shore. 

Miss  Melendy  wore  a  suit  of  soft  brown  corduroy  with 
conspicuous  pockets  on  the  Norfolk  jacket,  which  opened 
to  show  a  neat  white  shirt  and  cravat  and  heavy  watch 
guards.  The  soft,  broad-brimmed  felt  hat  was  more  be- 
coming than  the  Panama  she  had  worn,  and  there  was 
something  very  attractive  in  the  face  it  framed  and  shaded. 
It  seemed  as  if  there  was  something  in  the  girl's  face 
that  had  not  been  there  when  Erica  had  first  looked  upon 
it  in  Paris.  Where  was  it?  Oh,  at  the  Tomb  of  Napo- 
leon.    She  was  thinner  of  course,  —  small  wonder  with 


FIREWEED  311 

her  constant  exercise,  but  —  well,  she  wouldn't  look  sad 
once  they  were  started.  She  would  bloom  under  the  com- 
panionship of  Mr.  Cotton,  and  —  it  was  no  more  than 
her  desert.  And  he  would  be  happy  with  her  and  Mrs. 
Miles  and  Nancy.  And  Erica  drew  a  quick  little  breath 
as  she  recognized  the  covered  wicker  basket  containing 
the  alcohol  lamp  and  all  the  tea-things  she  had  collected  so 
happily  which  she  had  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Miles. 

Most  curiously,  in  contrast  to  Miss  Melendy,  Nancy 
Cotton  was  almost  rosy.  Erica  couldn't  understand  how 
the  delicate  girl,  after  drooping  through  England  and 
Holland,  as  Mrs.  Miles  said  she  had  done,  being  almost 
floored  in  Paris,  and  falling  into  invalid  ways  in  Italy, 
should  have  been  refreshed  and  revivified  by  Naples. 
And  it  couldn't  be  attributed  to  excitement  because  she 
was  going  home.  That  might  account  for  the  color  but 
not  for  the  loss  of  the  hollows  in  her  cheeks,  the  shadows 
under  her  eyes  and  the  animation  that  replaced  her  former 
spiritless  languor.  Cotton,  she  knew,  attributed  the  change 
to  Miss  Melendy,  and  Erica  felt  that  it  was  very  likely  he 
was  right. 

Erica  turned  from  the  window.  The  last  brigand-like 
driver  had  cracked  the  whip  fiercely  above  the  backs  of 
the  last  pair  of  sorry-looking  horses  (which  Mr.  Cotton 
declared  would  have  been  far  sorrier-looking  but  for 
Garibaldi)  ;  the  last  wheels  had  whirled  away,  and  the  last 
cloud  of  dust  in  their  wake  dissipated.  With  all  their 
delay,  they  could  almost  have  caught  the  Apulia  at  the 
hour  originally  named.  It  was  well  for  her,  however, 
that  they  hadn't  been  characteristically  prompt,  for  her 
mind  had  been  occupied  and  now  she  wouldn't  have  long 
to  wait  for  Mr.  Cotton.  She  was  thankful  that  she  was 
dressed  so  that  every  minute  was  her  own. 

Surely,  he  would  come.  It  would  be  unlike  him  not 
to  give  her  the  results  of  his  efforts  in  her  behalf  before 


312  FIREWEED 

he  joined  the  others,  and  to  express  his  good  wishes  to 
her  alone. 

Folding  her  hands  in  her  lap,  Erica  dropped  back  in 
her  chair.  Now  she  was  not  thinking  nor  musing  nor 
dreaming.  She  was  waiting,  and  for  the  moment  so  sure 
was  she  of  his  coming,  that  it  was  an  ecstasy  of  waiting. 
Behind  her  lay  the  past  that  she  had  disowned,  and  a 
recent  past  too  recent  to  be  labeled ;  before  her  stretched 
a  long  dreary  future,  reaching  from  the  sailing  of  the 
Apulia  until  she  knew  not  when,  —  at  the  very  least  to 
the  end  of  this  uncertain  exile,  and  quite  likely  long  after- 
wards. Between  these  arid  deserts  was  or  was  to  be 
this  wonderful  emerald  oasis,  so  marvelously  fair  that  she 
closed  her  eyes  involuntarily  in  the  sense  of  enchantment 
that  thrilled  her  almost  into  unconsciousness. 

The  minutes  stole  by,  perhaps  half  an  hour  had  passed. 
Erica  had  seemed  to  herself  to  be  at  the  height,  the  quin- 
tessence of  consciousness ;  but  she  was  startled  out  of  it,  as 
from  sound  sleep,  the  depths  of  unconsciousness,  by  a 
strangely  alien  thought.  She  had  quite  forgotten !  She 
was  to  have  visited  her  baby's  grave  directly  after  land- 
ing from  the  steamship. 

Poor  little  grave !  It  would  be  unvisited  now  for  many 
weeks,  perhaps  months!  Ah!  but  what  would  a  few 
months  mean  after  seven  years!  Nothing,  only  —  she 
had  wanted  to  whisper  certain  words  down  into  the  dark- 
ness, to  press  her  face  against  the  turf  and  say  how  sorry 
she  was. 

Rising,  she  leaned  out  through  the  casement.  Why 
didn't  he  come?  Why  couldn't  he  understand  that  she 
would  far  rather  have  her  affairs  in  the  direst  confusion, 
would  rather  be  left  on  the  frontier  between  opposing 
armies,  than  lose  this  precious  time.  She  could  have 
arranged  everything  after  he  had  gone.  She  would  be 
craving  some  activity  aside  from  driving  to  the  hospital 


FIREWEED  313 

for  bulletins  regarding  Libby's  condition.  She  would 
sooner  be  unable  to  draw  sufficient  money  to  hire  a  cab 
and  be  forced  to  walk  miles  upon  miles  in  hot,  dusty 
Naples  than  miss  one  minute  of  the  time  she  craved.  As 
it  was,  she  could  now  wait  only  half  an  hour  at  the  latest, 
then  drive  furiously  to  the  boat  to  redeem  her  promise. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  She  was  pacing  the  floor.  An- 
other ten  passed  and  she  wrung  her  hands.  Ah!  she 
couldn't  endure  it  only  to  see  him  on  the  crowded  boat 
among  all  the  others,  she  cried  out :  she  must  have  some 
little  intimate,  understanding  word  all  her  own.  Even 
Miss  Melendy  wouldn't  grudge  her  that  grace.  Well,  if 
he  came  within  a  few  minutes,  they  could  drive  to  the 
Apulia  together. 

Seating  herself,  her  thoughts  reverted  straight  to  that 
little  grave  again.  It  came  to  her  that  Alex  lay  beside 
the  child  —  his  child  and  hers.  Remembering  that,  could 
she  bear  to  visit  the  spot? 

Wildly,  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  couldn't  decide 
now.  Afterwards,  —  why,  there  would  be  nothing  for 
her  but  time,  time,  time,  leisure,  leisure,  leisure,  and  she 
could  face  that  question  and  any  other  that  came  up. 
There  would  be  ample  leisure  for  repentance. 

A  boy  came  to  the  door  to  say  that  her  carriage  was 
ready.  She  gave  him  money  for  himself  and  to  pay  the 
driver  and  asked  him  to  get  her  a  motor  car.  With  a 
sorry  realization  of  her  likeness  to  Bluebeard's  wife,  she 
ran  to  the  casement  and  watched  with  clasped  hands  for 
any  sign  of  the  form  she  expected.  Still  she  could  not 
bear  to  think  that  he  would  not  come.  For  if  she  only 
saw  him  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  on  the  vessel,  what 
would  she  have  to  live  on  during  the  long,  empty  days  ? 

Again  the  boy  came  and  announced  the  motor  car. 
The  manager  of  the  hotel  had  told  her  that  he  expected 
Mr.  Cotton  back,  and  she  longed  to  wait.     She  had  prom- 


514  FIREWEED 

jsed  to  go  to  the  boat,  but  they  would  think  she  had  been 
delated.  Ah !  but  that  wasn't  true,  and  she  had  promised. 
With  one  long,  last  look  from  the  window,  she  left  the 
room,  entered  the  car  and  was  hurried  down  to  the  land- 
ing. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

It  was  very  late  before  the  Apulia  finally  got  under 
way,  quite  too  dark  for  the  farewell  view  of  Vesuvius, 
Capri  and  the  Bay  of  Naples  the  more  optimistic  among 
the  passengers  had  anticipated.  The  majority,  however, 
were  too  thankful  to  feel  the  vessel  moving  to  have  any  re- 
grets. The  throb  of  the  machinery  and  the  trail  of  the 
wake  in  the  dark  water  were  all  that  they  desired.  For, 
what  with  some  of  the  crew  being  taken  oflF  at  the  last 
moment  and  having  to  be  replaced  by  others,  passengers 
who  had  fallen  heirs  to  tickets  of  persons  failing  to  ar- 
rive rushing  out  to  secure  passports  in  case  the  vessel 
be  held  up,  and  other  more  uncertain  causes  of  delay, 
hours  had  already  elapsed  that  would  have  carried  them 
well  out  into  the  Mediterranean. 

Erica  Manners  had  more  time  than  she  cared  for  in  the 
circumstances.  She  boarded  the  vessel,  found  the  quar- 
ters of  the  Burgess  party,  and  saw  the  members,  singly 
and  in  groups.  Cotton  had  not  yet  come.  Miss  Melendy 
had  Nancy  lying  in  her  berth  in  preparation  for  the  long 
standing  on  deck  when  the  time  for  starting  drew  near. 
The  others,  with  the  exception  of  Miss  Budd  and  Mrs. 
Burgess,  were  moving  restlessly  about  from  deck  to  cabin, 
from  cabin  to  lounge  and  companionway,  in  the  attempt  to 
relieve  or  forget  or  disguise  their  anxiety.  Miss  Budd 
was  calmly  unpacking  and  stowing  away  her  steamer  lug- 
gage, and  Mrs.  Burgess  was  beginning  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery that  was  to  be  a  souvenir  of  the  voyage. 

Strive  as  she  would  and  did.  Erica  could  not  so  enter 

31S 


3i6  FIREWEED 

into  the  partings  as  to  make  them  seem  satisfactory  or 
sufficient.  The  vessel  was  shortly  so  crowded  that  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  refuge  in  staterooms,  and 
still  people  thronged  on.  Perhaps  in  any  case,  in  all  the 
confusion  and  anxiety,  intercourse  must  have  been  rather 
perfunctory.  As  it  was.  Erica's  mind  was  cruelly  di- 
vided. Would  Cotton  ever  come?  she  was  asking  herself 
in  the  midst  of  assuring  Mrs.  Miles  that  the  first  time  she 
came  West  she  would  visit  her  and  meet  Miles.  Was  he 
already  here?  Would  there  be  any  chance  of  seeing  him 
alone?  Absolutely  none.  Finally  Erica  resigned  herself 
perforce  to  that,  but  when  it  began  to  look  as  if  she  should 
not  see  him  at  all,  she  felt  that  she  could  not  bear  it. 

Finally,  a  whistle  began  to  blow  shrilly,  frantically,  sig- 
naling all  on  board  who  were  not  sailing  to  leave  the  ves- 
sel. There  was  a  mad  rush  for  the  gangplank.  Late 
comers,  forming  a  mob  in  themselves,  appeared  simultane- 
ously to  board  the  vessel,  and,  for  a  little,  confusion  was 
almost  panic.  Erica  stood  wearily  aside  until  the  worst 
was  over.     Nothing  mattered  to  her  now. 

When  at  length  there  was  an  opportunity  to  go  down, 
she  scanned  the  faces  of  the  stragglers  ascending.  Cot- 
ton had  probably  been  one  of  the  indistinguishable  crowd 
that  had  embarked  already ;  but  when  porters,  with  bulky, 
belated  luggage  blocked  her  view,  she  felt  somehow  that 
she  had  missed  him  in  those  minutes. 

A  goodly  number  of  people  stood  on  the  wooden  pier  to 
await  the  sailing  of  the  vessel,  but  there  was  no  crowd 
and  Erica  took  her  stand  in  a  conspicuous  place.  When 
a  whistle  blew,  she  got  out  her  pocket  handkerchief  ready 
to  wave,  and  looking  up  tried  to  distinguish  her  friends 
among  the  sea  of  faces  far  above  her.  But  dusk  was 
coming  on,  and  she  failed  to  find  them  and  waited  for  a 
signal  which  did  not  come.  Other  whistles  sounded  at 
intervals,  sharp,  shrill  shrieks  that  pierced  her  very  soul, 


FIREWEED  317 

but  nothing  happened.  The  dusk  deepened.  Stragglers 
continued  to  arrive,  taking  the  gangplank  in  leaps  and 
bounds  as  if  they  expected  it  to  double  up  beneath  them 
and  drop  them  into  the  sea.  But  though  among  them 
there  were  tall  men,  there  was  none  inordinately  tall,  and 
though  there  were  thin  men  and  gaunt,  there  was  none 
who  was  thin  and  gaunt  and  very  tall.  Erica  scanned  the 
deck  again.  A  white  blot  she  saw  might  have  been  a 
Panama  hat.  In  any  event,  when  the  vessel  started  all 
she  could  do  was  to  wave  towards  that. 

The  lingering  afterglow  faded  out  over  the  bay.  The 
sky  darkened  and  the  stars  came  out.  Still  people  gath- 
ered on  the  pier  and  now  Erica  was  one  of  an  indistin- 
guishable throng.  Noise  and  confusion  abounded.  Boys 
and  men  stood  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  platform 
hawking  all  sorts  of  articles  from  steamer  chairs  to  tin 
washing-basins  and  palm  leaf  fans.  Men  and  women  in 
boats  crawled  close  up  to  the  great  bulk  of  the  vessel 
holding  up  baskets  of  fruits  and  flowers,  crying  "  Vare 
sheep,  vare  sheep,"  and  skilfully  tossing  up  ropes  by 
which  purchasers  might  haul  up  their  booty  and  send  down 
the  money.  Half  naked,  dark-skinned  little  boys  cleared 
a  stage  for  themselves  at  the  front  by  means  of  elbowing 
and  anticking,  then  turned  handsprings  and  sang  "  Santa 
Lucia  "  over  and  over  in  hoarse  voices  for  coppers  from 
the  deck. 

Amid  it  all.  Erica  stood  like  a  stone.  It  was  quite 
vain.  She  would  stand  and  watch  the  dark  hulk  until  it 
bore  him  away  from  her  out  into  the  blackness  without 
one  last  word,  one  farewell  look.  She  might  never  see 
him  again.  He  might  be  going  to  his  grave  or  she  meet- 
ing hers.  A  thousand,  thousand  things  might  happen. 
And  her  grief  for  any  one  of  them  would  be  the  deeper 
and  the  heavier  for  the  fact  of  their  having  separated 
without  parting. 


3i8  FIREWEED 

She  would  have  nothing  to  hold  to,  nothing  to  live 
on.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  have  it  so,  as  if  she 
must  do  something.  But  what  was  there  to  do?  Noth- 
ing, nothing.  Only  this  bootless  waiting  here  in  the 
darkness  alone  for  the  moment  to  come  when  she  would 
wave  her  hand  into  space,  and  they  would  sail  out 
towards  the  Mediterranean  and  Gibraltar  and  the  great 
Atlantic. 

More  and  more  frequently,  the  vessel  gave  vent  to  those 
piercing,  heartrending  shrieks.  But  the  gangplank  was 
still  down.  Men  and  occasionally  women  straggled  up, 
and  one  man  came  down.  A  serious  looking  but  young- 
ish man,  the  shaft  of  light  showed  him  to  be,  thin,  a  bit 
shabby,  stooping  a  little,  though  he  needed  every  inch  of 
his  height.  When  he  approached  an  Italian  group  stand- 
ing beside  Erica,  she  saw  a  good,  whimsical  face  and 
kindly,  eager  eyes  behind  large  spectacles. 

He  wore  no  hat  and  the  lady  kept  warning  him  ner- 
vously that  he  would  be  left  behind,  but  he  was  not  con- 
cerned. He  answered  her  perfectly  intelligible  mixture 
of  Italian  and  English  by  a  curious  corruption  that  was 
far  more  confusing  to  her  than  undiluted  English  would 
have  been. 

"  Gotta  mucha  timee  alia  samee,"  he  reiterated  sweetly, 
while  she  shook  her  head  f  rowningly. 

At  the  same  time  that  she  witnessed  this,  Erica  was 
dimly  aware  of  some  particular  commotion  on  the  vessel, 
indicated  by  high  voices,  hysterical  cries,  and  sobbing. 
She  wondered  vaguely  then  poignantly  if  some  one  had 
been  hurt.  She  half  turned  to  asik  her  neighbor's  opin- 
ion as  to  that,  just  as  a  messenger  appeared  with  a  sum- 
mons for  the  young  man  in  spectacles.  Whereupon  he 
shook  hands  again  with  his  friends  and  they  hurried 
away.     He  himself,  however,  took  his  time. 

"  What's  the  row  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  boy. 


FIREWEED  319 

"  Lydy  off  'er  'ed  cause  'er  cawn't  go,  "  said  the  lad. 

"  No  ticket  ?  "  the  other  asked. 

The  boy  explained  that  she  had  had  one,  but  being  in 
Germany,  her  friend  had  sold  it,  never  dreaming  she  could 
get  through.  She  had  managed  it  somehow,  perhaps  be- 
cause she  wasn't  in  Germany  at  all,  and  had  taken  a  long 
journey  by  motor  and  reached  the  boat.  But  the  guy 
who  had  bought  the  ticket  wouldn't  part  with  it  and  the 
poor  lyd}'^  fairly  'owled.  The  officers  were  tyking  her 
off. 

Now  the  young  man  started  as  if  catapulted  towards 
the  gangplank.  He  reached  it,  Erica  saw,  just  in  time  to 
meet  the  hysterical  woman  coming  down  between  two 
officials.  It  was  quite  dark,  but  a  flaring  light  on  the 
dock  revealed  the  scene  as  if  for  her  benefit.  She  saw 
the  young  man  stop  the  officials  and  parley  with  them. 
How  like  Mr.  Cotton  that  was,  his  championing  that  poor 
hysterical  creature  whom  Erica  would  have  called  vul- 
gar not  so  long  since.  Finally  he  took  out  his  pocket  book 
and  handed  something  out.  They  all  turned  and  went  on 
together,  the  lady  on  the  young  man's  arm. 

Erica  sighed  deeply.  As  she  watched  idly  for  the  gang- 
plank to  be  removed,  she  saw  the  young  man  descending  in 
hat  and  top  coat,  with  a  valise  in  either  hand,  an  umbrella, 
walking  stick,  camera  and  several  books,  stepping  blithely 
down.  He  returned  to  the  place  where  his  friends  had 
been,  dropped  his  luggage,  all  but  the  books,  which  he  held 
under  one  arm,  and  leaning  nonchalantly  upon  his  walking 
stick,  gazed  up  at  the  boat. 

"  Aren't  you  going  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  Not  this  trip,  Miss,"  he  returned  smiling. 

"  Was  it  you  that  had  that  woman's  ticket  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  but  it  might  have  been." 

"  She  is  a  stranger  to  you  ?  " 

He  nodded. 


320  FIREWEED 

"  And  you  gave  up  your  ticket  to  her  ?  "  she  demanded 
warmly. 

"  She  was  mad  to  get  home,"  he  murmured  apologeti- 
cally. "  And  I  didn't  care  so  much.  You  know,  I  just 
hated  to  leave  Rome.  If  I  had  gotten  back  to  Denver  and 
heard  that  the  Austrians  were  bombarding  the  Forum, 
I  should  have  wanted  to  take  the  next  boat  back,  and  sup- 
pose there  hadn't  been  one  ?  And  really,  it's  no  more  than 
fair,  for  that  was  the  way  I  came  by  my  ticket  —  ofif  a 
fellow's  partner  who  sold  it  to  me  for  American  Express 
cheques.  But  I  sha'n't  even  miss  the  money.  You 
know  the  Tennessee's  at  Falmouth." 

He  jerked  out  his  sentences,  smiling  in  embarrassed 
fashion. 

"  And  if  Italy  goes  in  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  should  worry,"  returned  the  solemn  looking  young 
man,  and  they  both  laughed. 

They  waited  together,  mostly  in  silence,  but  now  and 
then  making  little  friendly  remarks  that  relieved  the  lone- 
liness. The  young  fellow's  nonchalant  sacrifice  had 
warmed  Erica's  heart.  It  would  please  Mr.  Cotton  when 
she  wrote  him  about  it.  She  knew  now  that  she  would 
find  on  her  return  to  the  hotel  a  scribbled  note  from  him 
that  would  explain. 

Dreading  the  long  drive  up  to  the  Parco  Margherita 
with  the  fierce  Neapolitan  cab  drivers,  she  asked  her  com- 
panion where  he  was  staying.  He  named  a  place  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  city. 

"  It  won't  be  easy  to  get  cabs  afterwards,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll  snap  up  one  first  thing  and 
land  you  wherever  you  want  to  go  and  then  have  him 
drop  me  after  that." 

"  Oh  if  you  would !  "  she  cried  gratefully,  then  flinched 
at  a  loud  blast  from  the  steamship's  whistle. 

Involuntarily  she  wrung  her  hands.     She  thought  she 


FIREWEED  321 

had  given  up,  but  in  truth  until  this  moment  she  had  hoped 
against  hope.  He  was  going,  and  she  was  alone  in  Eu- 
rope, alone  in  this  dark,  forbidding,  frightful  city  of 
Naples ! 

The  gangplank  was  drawn  up.  Shouts  from  above 
answered  shouts  from  all  about  her,  and  there  was  a 
flashing  of  fluttering  handkerchiefs.  A  moment,  and  the 
Apulia  was  slipping  silently  away  into  the  darkness. 
The  young  man  at  Erica's  side,  dimly  aware  of  her  an- 
guish, spoke  in  an  easy,  offhand  way. 

"  Do  you  know,  the  very  last  chap  to  come  down  looked 
like  a  man  I  got  to  know  a  bit  in  Rome.  Gee !  but  I  wish 
it  might  be !  " 

But  Erica  heard  only  the  sound  of  his  voice.  She 
stood  in  stony  silence.  Still  the  dark  hulk  was  visible, 
though  on  the  very  moment  of  dissolution  into  the  black- 
ness. There  was  no  further  shouting.  It  seemed  as  if 
those  on  the  vessel  like  those  on  shore  were  unaware  of 
the  exact  moment  of  starting,  so  that  they  were  under 
way  before  either  knew  it.  Or  perhaps  it  was  too 
solemn  a  moment  for  those  on  board  to  make  any  demon- 
stration, or  for  the  English-speaking  folk  below.  It 
might  have  seemed  that  no  passenger  ship  ever  sailed  out 
into  the  Bay  of  Naples  to  cross  the  Atlantic  with  less 
valedictory  ceremony. 

The  shabby  young  man  had  been  right.  It  was  the 
chap  he  had  seen  in  the  Forum.  And  just  after  the  vessel 
disappeared  into  the  darkness,  he  came  straight  towards 
the  place  where  the  younger  man  stood,  apparently  in 
search  of  him,  and  the  face  of  the  latter  beamed  with 
joy. 

He  was  about  to  ask  the  strange  young  lady  to  excuse 
him  and  wait  a  few  seconds  while  he  greeted  his  friend, 
after  which  he  would  fetch  the  cab,  when  she,  too,  caught 
sight  of  the  other  man.     Good  heavens!  she  knew  him. 


322  FIREWEED 

too.  Her  face  —  was  she  going  into  hysterics,  also,  or 
would  she  faint?  No,  Great  Scott!  she  had  fallen  into 
the  arms  of  the  stranger  and  was  weeping  on  his  breast. 

Well,  this  was  apparently  no  place  for  J.  Cawthorne. 
The  young  lady  wouldn't  need  his  help  to  get  to  her  stop- 
ping place.  He  hated  awfully  to  lose  sight  of  the  tall 
chap,  but  this  was  truly  no  moment  to  approach  him,  even 
to  make  a  hasty  date  for  meeting  on  the  morrow.  And 
anyhow,  he  had  this  chance.  If  he  didn't  encounter  him 
at  the  consulate  or  at  Pompeii,  he  would  go  straight  to 
the  Roman  Forum  and  await  him  there. 

And  J.  Cawthorne  picked  up  his  bags,  his  umbrella,  and 
camera  and  staggered  away  under  his  burden  without  a 
backward  look. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

Just  after  the  middle  of  August,  Philip  Stokes  received 
a  cable  message  from  Cotton  asking  him  to  meet  Nancy, 
who  was  leaving  Naples  on  the  SS.  Apulia  on  the  four- 
teenth instant.  He  was  perplexed  as  well  as  troubled. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  Why  should  Cotton  remain  abroad 
at  this  critical  moment,  separating  himself  from  Nancy 
for  the  first  time? 

For  his  part,  however,  Stokes  was  more  than  pleased 
to  meet  Nancy  and  escort  her  home.  The  only  complica- 
tion was  that  Erica  Manners  would  be  on  the  same  ves- 
sel and  he  didn't  feel  sure  of  himself  with  regard  to  her. 
He  hadn't  yet  received  his  letter  of  dismissal  from  her  —  it 
came  on  the  Apulia  —  but  of  late  since  he  had  learned  of 
her  thrusting  herself  so  rudely  upon  the  Cottons,  he  had 
had  some  respite  from  his  former  constant  dwelling  upon 
her,  —  some  genuine  relief.  He  hoped  it  might  be  an 
earnest  that  he  should  finally  break  with  her  completely, 
as  he  had  so  long  endeavored  to  do,  but  never  before  with 
so  much  foundation  as  now.  H  he  met  her  now  and 
found  her  disagreeable  and  caustic,  he  could  face  it ;  but 
if  she  should  be  at  all  friendly,  if  she  should  exert  ever 
so  carelessly  her  abundant  charm,  he  feared  he  would 
capitulate  at  sight  and  grovel  at  her  feet. 

As  the  Apulia  came  up  from  quarantine  early  on  the 
second  Monday  morning  after  she  sailed,  Stokes  was  one 
of  the  foremost  of  the  throng  gathered  on  the  pier.  And 
his  heart  told  him  before  his  eyes  had  ascertained  the 
fact  that  Erica  Manners  was  not  aboard. 

323 


324  FIREWEED 

The  sensation  he  experienced  was  that  of  overwhelm- 
ing relief.  It  seemed  at  the  moment,  moreover,  to  be 
more  than  the  consciousness  of  escape  from  an  awkward 
predicament.  It  was  so  deep,  so  profound  as  to  be  a 
positive  rather  than  a  negative  sensation.  It  almost 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  years  with  their  ugly  freight 
dropped  from  him  and  he  stood  erect  and  young  again. 
His  heart  certainly  leaped  at  the  idea  of  greeting  the  young 
girl  who  would  be  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him.  He  could 
almost  understand  the  joy  of  the  rustic  swain  about  to 
meet  his  sweetheart. 

Nancy  came  off  with  'Miss  Melendy.  Upon  seeing 
Stokes,  the  girl  flushed  all  over  in  the  prettiest  confusion. 
As  he  took  her  hand,  he  was  seized  with  the  desire  to 
kiss  her  pink  cheek,  as  if  she  were  a  favorite  little  cousin 
or  he  the  aforementioned  swain.  Instead,  he  pressed  her 
hand  very  warmly  in  lieu  of  his  wonted  indolent  touch, 
and  a  rare  smile  lighted  his  bored  face  and  lifted  his  lazy 
lids  to  show  the  gleam  in  his  fine  gray  eyes. 

Though  there  was  no  second  spring  for  Philip  Stokes, 
he  was  even  now  entering  upon  a  rarely  mellow  Indian 
summer  which  promised  to  be  a  far  happier  season  and 
more  permanent.  Certainly  its  sunshine  was  sweeter 
and  its  flowers  more  fragant  than  any  earlier  harvesting 
could  have  been.  And  Nancy,  though  she  had  known 
drought  and  blight  and  tempest,  stood  on  the  very  thresh- 
old of  May. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

Six  weeks  had  passed,  and  Miss  Lancaster  was  sailing 
for  America,  but  alone.  Cotton  and  his  friend  John 
Cawthorne,  who  had  occupied  these  weeks  in  training  for 
ambulance  work,  would  soon  go  to  the  front,  the  former 
expecting  to  be  relieved  at  Christmas  by  Philip  Stokes. 
Erica  had  entered  the  hospital  with  Miss  Lancaster  and 
was  about  to  complete  a  course  in  surgical  nursing  that 
would  enable  her  to  be  a  capable  assistant  in  an  hospital. 
She  had  expected  to  persuade  Miss  Lancaster  to  accom- 
pany her  into  France,  but  Miss  Lancaster  had  had  more 
than  she  wanted  of  Europe  and  would  listen  to  nothing 
that  hadn't  to  do  with  her  journey  home. 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  day  she  left,  a  large,  handsome 
motor  car  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  hotel  with  Cotton 
at  the  steering  wheel.  A  professional  would  have  re- 
marked the  skill  and  ease  with  which  he  handled  the  car. 
Mrs.  Manners  was  not  surprised,  as  she  always  expected 
perfection  of  him.  Miss  Lancaster  had  never  ridden  as 
comfortably  but  she  did  not  suspect  how  much  of  the 
comfort  was  due  to  the  driving. 

Erica  was  beautifully  dressed  and  had  unusual  color. 
She  wore  a  cream-colored,  embroidered  linen  suit  with  a 
loose  jacket  and  embroidered  waistcoat.  An  embroid- 
ered hat  of  the  same  material  dropped  over  her  soft  hair 
and  her  eager  little  face.  She  had  purchased  the  costume 
in  Florence  with  gloves,  shoes  and  sunshade,  but  Miss 
Lancaster  had  never  seen  her  wear  it  before. 

2^S 


326  FIREWEED 

"  I'm  sure  I  ought  to  be  flattered  to  have  you  put  on 
your  glad  rags  to  go  down  to  that  dirty  old  boat  with 
me,"  she  sniffed. 

"  My  dear  Libby,  how  many  times  have  I  told  you  that 
the  boat  isn't  dirty?"  rejoined  Erica.  "  It's  a  clean,  de- 
cent boat.  Even  young  Billings,  that  belongs  to  the  rival 
company,  admits  that." 

"  That's  not  saying  that  you  ought  to  wear  a  brand 
new  suit  that  was  frightfully  expensive  and  that  will 
never  look  the  same  after  it's  dry  cleaned,"  persisted  Miss 
Lancaster,  who  looked  sour  and  sallow  and  retained  much 
of  the  peevishness  of  her  convalescence. 

"A  nos  moiitonsf"  —  Erica  smiled.  "Which  isn't  at 
all  the  way  Mr.  Cotton  would  say  it.  But  he  speaks  right 
good  colloquial  French  for  all  that.  No,  Libby,  I  didn't 
get  into  these  togs  especially  to  see  you  off.  But  I  have 
an  engagement  after  you  sail,  and  I  wasn't  sure  there'd 
be  time  to  dress." 

"  H'm.     With  Cotton  ?  "  in  a  low,  suspicious  voice. 

"  Yes,  Libby,  with  Cotton !  "  Erica  declared  mischie- 
vously and  distinctly.  But  there  was  too  much  noise  for 
the  driver  to  hear,  for  they  were  now  at  the  dock. 

Cotton  escorted  them  to  the  boat,  attended  to  the  lug- 
gage, shook  hands  gravely  with  Miss  Lancaster  and 
wished  her  a  comfortable,  pleasant  voyage.  Then  he  was 
off. 

Erica  went  with  Miss  Lancaster  to  the  stateroom 
which  she  was  to  share  with  a  young  lady  who  had 
stayed  at  the  hotel,  and  whom  Erica  rather  pitied.  She 
perched  upon  the  bed  while  Miss  Lancaster  fussed  about 
among  her  things. 

With  her  bright  color  and  her  shining  eyes,  in  her  beau- 
tiful suit  and  becoming  hat,  Erica  was  a  picture.  Her  pose 
was  not  only  that  of  suppressed  eagerness  but  of  genuine 
vitality. 


FIREWEED  327 

"  Libby,  look  pleasant  please,"  she  begged.  "  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  before  Miss  Bartlett  comes  on,  but 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  get  it  out  if  you  look  like  that. 
Let  all  that  business  go  until  you're  off.  You'll  have 
oceans  —  I  should  say  steamships  —  of  time  then.  Come, 
we've  been  together  a  long  time.  You've  borne  a  lot  I 
know,  but  —  well,  we  ought  to  rejoice  in  one  another's 
happiness  just  the  same." 

Her  pleading  voice  fell  low.  Her  eyes  were  as  soft  as 
if  there  were  tears  in  them.  Most  likely  there  were,  and 
they  dimmed  her  vision,  for  though  Miss  Lancaster's 
grimness  did  not  relax,  she  went  on. 

"  Libby,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now  what  I  promised 
yesterday  to  tell  you,  and  why  I  am  wearing  these  things," 
she  said,  her  voice  becoming  almost  solemn.  "  It  is  be- 
cause this  is  my  wedding-day,  Libby.  This  is  my  wed- 
ding gown." 

"  Erica  Manners ! "  cried  Miss  Lancaster  in  utter 
amazement  the  moment  she  could  find  voice. 

"  Yes,  Libby,  we  are  going  from  the  dock  up  to  the 
little  English  church  on  the  hill  near  the  Blue  Sisters  and 
be  married,  Mr.  Cotton  and  I." 

She  was  transformed.  Her  eyes,  her  whole  face  shone 
with  a  new,  strange,  lovely  light.  Though  she  looked  ap- 
pealingly  into  Miss  Lancaster's  face,  she  seemed  hardly 
to  see  her. 

"  But  I  can't  understand  it,"  protested  Miss  Lancaster 
sharply.  "I  simply  can't  believe  it.  It  —  beats  me! 
When  I  think  of  that  trial  —  " 

"  But  Libby,  please,  I  don't  want  to  think  of  it  to-day." 
returned  Erica  gently.  "  It's  a  part  of  my  life,  of  course, 
a  nightmare  that  may  haunt  me  as  long  as  I  live;  but  I 
am  going  to  keep  it  in  the  background  as  far  as  possible. 
Honestly,  I  believe  I  have  learned  the  lesson  it  had  to 
teach.     But  anyhow,  I  must  not  think  of  it  to-day." 


328  FIREWEED 

She  spoke  pleadingly.  The  light  had  gone  from  her 
eyes.  The  flush  on  her  cheek  deepened  from  the  pain. 
Her  lip  trembled.  As  Erica  had  sloughed  her  selfishness, 
she  had  lost  the  immunity  from  slings  and  arrows  that  had 
gone  with  it. 

Miss  Lancaster  stretched  her  long  neck  and  drew  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  Of  course,  since  you  are  both  to  stay  over  here,  it's 
only  the  proper  and  necessary  thing  to  do,"  she  acknowl- 
edged sourly. 

"  Oh,  Libby,  it  isn't  that  at  all ! "  cried  Erica  paling 
suddenly.  "  He  —  loves  me  —  it's  just  that  and  nothing 
else.  I  can't  understand  how  it  can  be  myself,  but  it's 
true.  He  has  told  me  so.  He  didn't  understand  at  all 
until  he  went  to  Rome  after  the  others  sailed,  and  then  he 
missed  me.  He  missed  me,  he  wanted  me,  —  me^  Libby. 
Oh,  you  can't  dream  what  all  that  means  to  me  —  coming 
from  Mr.  Cotton,  the  very  noblest  man  in  all  the  world. 
It  makes  me  so  thankful  that  I'm  frightened.  I  long  to 
be  —  oh,  just  impossibly  good.  But  even  then  I  wouldn't 
be  anything  like  good  enough  for  him." 

Rising,  she  spread  out  her  hands  with  an  impulsive, 
winged  movement.  Now,  she  was  indeed  transfigured. 
Another  soul,  a  finer,  whiter  spirit  shone  forth  from  the 
lineaments  of  the  old  Erica.  Comparing  her  with  the 
woman  who  had  crossed  the  Atlantic  in  the  late  spring 
would  have  been  like  contrasting  a  landscape  in  a  sullen, 
glowering  dusk  with  the  same  when  flooded  with  rosy- 
golden  sunset  or  the  white  radiance  of  the  moon. 

But  Elizabeth  Lancaster  had  not  changed,  except  to 
harden.  She  was  the  same  woman  who  had  bartered  her 
independence  for  money  and  her  self-respect  for  a  seat 
in  the  vestibule  of  the  great  as  she  saw  them.  Able  to 
respond  to  the  former  Erica,  she  was  unequal  to  the  de- 
mands of  the  new  and  better  nature  that  was  struggling 


FIREWEED  329 

towards  the  light.  It  was  well  that  they  were  separating 
with  little  likelihood  of  coming  together  again. 

The  lady  who  shared  the  stateroom  entered,  and  the 
conversation  became  general.  When  the  warning  whistle 
blew,  Erica  rose  and  said  farewell  to  the  stranger.  She 
put  her  arm  through  Miss  Lancaster's  and  drew  her  out 
towards  the  gangplank. 

"  You're  sure  you  have  everything  you  need,  Libby  ?  " 

"If  I  haven't,  it's  too  late  to  do  anything  now,"  re- 
turned Miss  Lancaster,  who  seemed  to  have  no  medium  of 
intercourse  between  servile  flattery  and  a  bluntness  that 
bordered  on  rudeness. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  people  the  truth  ?  "  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  Libby.  Mr.  Cotton  asks  that  first 
you  will  deliver  this  letter  to  Nancy.  After  that,  tell  any 
one  who  asks." 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mrs.  Holbrook  will  say,  I'm  sure." 

Erica  smiled  wanly.  "  Nor  I,"  she  admitted.  And  she 
paled  sensitively. 

"Of  course  people  will  talk.  But  when  we  get  home  — 
well,  I  shall  have  a  lot  to  live  down.  I  shall  have  a 
struggle,  but  I  shall  have  Mr,  Cotton  by  my  side  —  please 
God." 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

Erica  found  Caleb  Cotton  waiting  with  eager  eyes  at 
the  foot  of  the  gangplank,  his  old  Panama  hat  tucked  un- 
der his  arm.  He  took  her  hand  as  if  she  had  long  been 
absent,  looked  deep  into  her  eyes  with  his  own  bluer  than 
ever,  and  kissed  her  for  the  first  time.  To  her  there  was 
something  knightly  and  chivalrous  and  yet  homely  in  his 
actions;  and  he  spoke  her  name  quite  without  hesitation, 
though  with  accents  that  were  his  alone. 

"  Erica,  my  Erica,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  look  as  if  you 
had  been  talking  with  the  angels.     How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  was  talking  with  God,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  had 
been  telling  Libby  all  about  it,  you  know,  dear,  and  I  said 
that  whatever  lay  before  me,  you  were  by  my  side  to 
help  me.  And  suddenly  it  all  came  over  me  again,  your 
goodness  and  my  unworthiness,  and  I  added  words  I 
had  never  used  before,  — '  Please  God.'  And  all  the  way 
till  I  got  to  you,  I  was  saying  it  as  a  prayer :  '  Please  God, 
please  God,  please  God.'  " 

"  God  bless  you,  Erica  love,"  he  said.  "  And  now  shall 
we  go  ?  " 

"  We  must  wait  until  the  boat  sails,  dear.  Libby  will 
expect  it.     Look,  there  she  is  now." 

A  little  delay ;  a  little  ineffectual  attempt  at  parleying ; 
then  the  vessel  swept  her  moorings  and  steamed  out  into 
the  bay. 

Erica  waved  her  pocket  handkerchief  until  it  disap- 
peared.   Then  the  two  turned  away,  walking  later  from 

330 


FIREWEED  331 

the  hotel  to  the  little  church  above,  where  the  simple  cere- 
mony took  place  just  at  sunset. 

At  home  in  America,  the  fireweed,  whose  romantic,  rose- 
amethyst  blossoms,  appearing  suddenly  after  midsummer 
and  the  first  harvest,  had  covered  the  charred  ruins  of 
desolate  homesteads  and  glowed  above  the  blackened 
prairies,  a  lovely  symbol  of  renascence,  now  added  fur- 
ther significance  to  that  symbol  as  its  tall  stalks  held  high 
their  fleecy  burden  of  silvery  down  which  the  winds  wouW 
carry  far  and  wide  to  gladden  another  arid  yet  another 
summer. 


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